Winston Churchill described his unwelcome internal companion as his black dog.
The dog is with me now.
It is making my head throb and my heart beat painfully in my chest. I shall paint shortly in the garage, alone, save for the dog. Loud symphonic extreme death metal music drowns out some of its incessant silent barking at least, but not all. Between songs I know that it's still lurking behind me. It's clear in my mind and although it makes no sound, all I can hear is the infernal noise of its silence. It stares at me with dark and unblinking eyes that weigh my eyelids down, but still I cannot sleep. I look tired and old. It's been with me in the forever of the past, and likely will be into the forever of my future.
When the symbolism is stripped away, all that is left is a chemical imbalance in the brain. I could medicate - but forever..? And even so, would I be medicating myself away? We are a pair, the dog and me. The dog takes me for long and painful walks into creativity, and without it, I fear the loss of something greater than the pain it costs me.
I try to visualise the dog. It is a large breed. Possibly a Labrador Retriever, I think, and mostly it just sits.
It doesn't bark, or snarl or make any aggressive moves. Its presence has a sound to it, although I can't directly hear it.
It just sits.
Watching.