I'm sitting here alone in my little cottage, a veteran of 25 years in the RAF and 40 seasons playing in the rugby front row not a hard man but tough enough, and I'm scared to death.
I've taken my pills, I'm not shaking or throwing my arms about, for once there is no pain, but still I'm scared. Scared that the Devil's Puppeteer will find a new game to play, a new string to pull.
I know the feeling will go away and I will survive but at this moment it overwhelms my thought patterns, my sense of logic and sense of order and my dreams are scattered to the four winds. Yes I will gather my dreams in but I'm tired, very tired, and one or two of them will never be found.