If there is life on Mars, then I swear they must look down at me and scratch their abnormally sized skulls and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I look like Mr Joe Bloggs and fit so neatly into the pigeon-hole marked average that it could have been tailor sized for me.
I am the sum of an equation that Will Hunting couldn't figure out and for nearly 40 years I have tried to work out why the scales are mis-balanced, but for the life of me, I cannot figure it out.
Me, myself and I can formally be introduced as Anxiety, Emetophobia and Zopiclone Addiction. They complete me. They are my DNA and I am their slave.. at least most of the time. When I'm not their slave, it's usually due to me cheating on two thirds thanks to Zopiclone.
I find it very difficult to explain myself and almost 'defend' who I am and why I react the way I do to any given situation. If I had the answers, I'm pretty sure I'm smart enough to debate with them a way to move forward from this gridlocked situation.
Why do I freak out when I think I am going to be sick? Why does my courage not accept that my Zopiclone addiction is probably the reason why my anxiety is so bad and also the reason why I have so many stomach problems and feelings of nausea. It's not a hard leap to make on paper, pointing out that getting rid of one may get rid of the others. But of course, that's too easy.
The internet is a dangerous place. There's so much information out there that most of the time we're always setting ourselves up to be freaked out, like in those shock videos where you stare at the red dot and suddenly Linda Blair's screaming face from The Exorcist blasts onto the screen. To research the side-effects of, or how to go about dealing with anxiety just uncovers a community of forums and platforms where people discuss the worst case scenario we should all expect should we take on the beast by the horns. Why are they all such horror stories? When asked why he wrote depressing songs, Leonard Cohen said that when he was in a good mood/happy, he'd be busy going out, getting high and getting laid. The same can be said about success stories from medication withdrawal and anxiety treatment. When it is successful and people do move on, the last thing they want to do is to go online and talk about the hardships, the battles, the near losses and sleepless nights. They want to thrive in their success, move forward and not relive memories that it took them a near lifetime to deal with. So, when researching Zopiclone addiciton, Emetophobia or panic attack treatments, all you read about are people who weren't successful in their ventures.
Will this blog be any different? I doubt it. I'd imagine when I'm having a good day and feeling on top of things, that I'll be too busy enjoying myself and living in the moment to actually sit down and psycho-analyse myself. Why would I do that? Why would I pick that scab or poke that bruise? It's one of the things I never quite understood about keeping a diary of the good times in therapeutic spaces. Why should I anchor myself when suddenly there is wind in my sails?
Therefore, for now, I will only write, I suspect, when I am hanging out in the company of the band, me, myself and I.
