Paranoia
Sometimes I fear that I am going mad. I try not to go outside. I avoid large groups of people when I am alone. I fear that they can read my face and know paranoia grips me. This isn’t normal.
When we enter the shopping centre and he leaves me to attend to his business, I flounder like a sailor lost in turbulent seas. I am anxious. Nervous. Afraid. I’ll move to a spot where I can see everyone. Where my back is covered and protected. If anyone gets closer, I immediately focus on and I watch them until I feel that I am safe from them. I try to remain aware.
I pick at my fingers, my cuticles with my nails. I rip my flesh off. I try to keep my face pleasantly blank. I hide from their curious eyes. I try to cover my bleeding fingers.
I feel their eyes upon me. I believe they’re judging me. I am convinced they’re talking about me. Negatively. They’re sneering at what I’m wearing, how I look and my unusual behaviour. Sometimes, I watch their eyes and I feel an irrational fear that they’re going to hurt me which is ridiculous. I’m at a shopping centre for fuck’s sake.
I am sick. I know that. I’ve got this illness. In my head. I can’t ever be normal. I’ve always been socially awkward even when I tried to deceive myself. But it’s gotten worse over the years. More and more. Sometimes, I think I should move to somewhere uninhabitable so there’s only me.
Sometimes, I worry that he’s going to hurt me. I know he wouldn’t. Ever.
I just have this knot in my stomache that eats away at me. I’m paranoid. I’m anxious. I worry. I’m always tense. I can’t relax. I prepare for all eventualities. All possibilities. I always know where the exits are. I always know what I can use to defend myself. I’m always prepared. I feel diseased.
