Thursday, 24 June 2010


What causes me anxiety? Dread? Angst? That sick and boiling feeling of complete flittering despair in the belly? When one flaps and prevaricates over the simplest of things, such as leaving a room to go for a piss? It is immensely aggravating, when it seizes, as I am generally very good at overcoming those feelings and crushing them before they unfurl and bloom into the vile corpse-grey, moth-dust-pollenated blooms of ghastliness that they have such a thuggish prospensity for achieving. Even when I am not confident, I can usually do an act of it. But sometimes I can't.

What causes it, in me? Or what has caused it of late?

  • i) the threat of random violence from people emotionally close to me

  • ii) not knowing where one is living / not having a room to escape to / no privacy

  • iii) the sheer ignorance and stupidity of people who don't understand what mental illness can be like, and being forced to live constantly in their company

  • iv) sympathy

All right. So a random selection there. The first two are completely understandable. Anyone would find those stressful after a while, especially if they rely on doses of peace and quiet to keep their galloping faculties in check. The second two are more interesting, and related either in similarity or difference.  Take the last one first. Sympathy is deeply disturbing. I find it is a horror, because it can break down my delicate barriers that keep my ghastlinesses in place. True, heartfelt sympathy is bearable. Uncomprehending sympathy is horrible, because it is always missing the point, and attributing some other alien reason to one's misery that needs to be refuted as well as the well-meaning of the sentiment acknowledged. I wish people would just fuck off sometimes. Actually, there is another point: the malice that often comes out in people when they sense you are having difficulties. They say people with mental illness are often attacked and abused. I can well believe it. There must be a psychic-fart-smell that begs for a verbal or physical kicking. It is so irritating - because any attempt to counter it involves baring one's heart - and that makes the situation worse, more often than not.

So much of being well involves telling yourself you're well. It gets tiring. And sometimes one can't convince oneself. This is only a very minor blip. I am keeping myself to myself because I tend to reply with far more dislike in my voice and manner, or perhaps too volubly. The woman on the phone from the jobcentre who I was consulting over the exact rules of permitted work under IB was treated to far too much information regarding my life-history. She seemed to be somewhat entertained, at any rate. But easier by far to stitch one's lips, draw the curtains, avoid, avoid, avoid.

I went out earlier. Only nearly got run-over three times in ten minutes! Damn it, I will make them slow down! I wish I knew what has got into my landlady. She has obviously taken an intense dislike to me. She won't say why. Oh well, soon be out of here, and whither, who cares?

Hmm. Two posts in a day. Like the buses. Take care all.

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