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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