If my mind was a pub counter meal, my crazy would be the limp little salad, not the huge hunk of schnitzel…
When I was about 7 or 8, I remember a morning before school where something was going on at home. I don’t recall the problem, or the words exchanged between my parents but I do remember the feeling of being marched to the front door and sent to school with a swift smack on the bum.
Perhaps my upset state activated my imagination, but this was also the morning I was followed to school. In hindsight, the old man who was smiling at me, driving too close to the curb for too long, could’ve been searching for friend’s place but at that time, in my little burdened mind, he was chasing me and so I ran all the way to school arriving late, wet and completely exhausted.
Looking back, I isolate that experience as one that instigated my struggle with anxiety. I’m not aware of the medical diagnoses for anxiety or paranoia but I do have my own definition and I know exactly what it feels like.
It is the belief that something bad will inevitably happen and trusting my gut, is not enough.
It is the idea that sharing my inner thoughts will leave me open to critique, ridicule.
It is the notion that people don’t really want the best for me, they don’t really care.
It is the angst I feel, when in my heart of hearts, I love those close to me with everything I can muster, but I keep them at a comfortable distance, just in case.
A working example:
Today I sent my son to vacation care – a trip to the movies. My mind raced ahead and I made Mr Robo take a photograph of him in his tracksuit, just in case.
I’m on the train right now and although the woman next to me is looking out the window to her left, I’m convinced she’s sneaking glances at my screen, to her right. I’ve contorted my body to the point of discomfort, just in case.
The negativity that plagues my mind at times, is excruciating. It’s irrational, unjustified.
But with my kind of crazy, I have, thankfully, developed a heightened awareness. I know my absurdities and I am aware that they are groundless. I just need some time, to remember that everything will be OK.
So this is why my blog remains anonymous.
My blog is my space.
I don’t blog often. But if I feel like sharing, it is unmeasured, unrestrained.
But I wonder, is sharing nameless and faceless actually sharing?
Is your blog anonymous? Were you apprehensive about revealing your identity?
Let me know of any cool anon blogs you might’ve come across.