Sunday 13 November 2011

A Lot on Neurosis and a Little on M'lady S.

Despite the occasional contrary evidence suggested by this blog, I’m actually of very sound mind. I do, however, have one major neurosis. It would take far too long to explain the detail and I’m not into that much TMI anyway, but let me tell you: it’s a bastard. It only affects one area of life, but it’s an area of considerable importance to me and so it’s a bit more than merely a nuisance. When it strikes, it’s destructive almost to the point of being a killer. In fact, in some ways, it is a killer.

(From this point on, the writing goes into second person because it’s less threatening that way – to me, that is.)

When a particular circumstance triggers this little guy, the effect is catastrophic. It brings you down into a place full of the most enervating horrors, leaving you feeling weak, desperate and emotionally nauseous. But it doesn’t stop there. Even when the circumstance has passed, it leaves you wounded for a while. In a metaphorical sense, it’s like having open cuts all over your body – so walking is painful, sitting is painful, kneeling is painful, lying down is painful. All you can do is stand still until the cuts heal and you can proceed on your merry way.

Now, this isn’t good. You’re a bright guy and you can see that this is trapping you, holding you back, stopping you going down roads you really want to go down. It has to be beaten, right, so what do you do? You have a high IQ so you apply logic, you rationalise it, you try to destroy it with the power of reason. The result is like shooting a water pistol at a forest fire. The next option is to seek the advice of a professional; you decide to give therapy a try. Twelve months later and the result is – zilch.

Shit! This means you’re going to have to put up with it for the rest of your life, and that pisses you off right royally. You’ve become a disabled person. Ah, but then one night you’re watching something on the TV and an interesting thought strikes you.

Maybe you’re seeing this neurosis all wrong. Maybe it’s actually a symptom of something deeper, an instinctive drive to pursue something that’s actually wholesome, meaningful and valuable. Maybe it’s a mechanism – albeit a bloody unpleasant one – to coax you away from the wrong road and onto the right one (and we’re not talking religion here, just in case you’re wondering.)

That’s encouraging, isn’t it? But is it right? I have no idea.

Having recounted all of which, as the man in the Monty Python bed shop sketch said: ‘Apart from that, he’s perfectly all right.’

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I haven’t mentioned Sarah today, have I? She’s gone missing again, but I did have an amusing thought about her earlier. Maybe I’ll make that one of tomorrow’s posts.

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