Things are absolutely mad in my world. You wouldn’t believe the pressure I am under. Each day feels like a withering attempt at survival. It’s hard enough gutting out these words without walking away from the keyboard and admitting to myself that I can’t accomplish anything, not even a blog post. It takes a lot of effort to sit and write after the difficult task of dragging myself up in the morning and departing the flat. My home these days no longer feels like a home. There are so many presences within its walls that I feel like the visitor. Many haunting memories linger there. I am under attack from them from morning till night, but especially in the night. I’ve taken to sleeping with the light on again, like I did as a small boy, seized by nightmares.
The
situation feels like it might be reaching boiling point. I feel like scarpering
to the streets, like I have in the past, to drink liquor in doorways and peruse
around town centres all day. Anything to get away from my infiltrated abode. I’ve
left the property on several occasions in the past and searched elsewhere for
shelter. The place just got too damn spooky. Ghosts, black operatives,
assassins, pests…what chance did I have with so many hostile intruders? I
thought the psychotic episodes would pass. I thought I would stabilise. I believed
all the insane dramas would evaporate into the dusty compartments of my memory.
The schizophrenic turmoil is back, however, as if time has never thawed it, and
I feel as if I am on my last chance to keep afloat. To remain treading water.
Where oh where is the safety of the shore?
Internally and
spiritually I am making noble progress. Boy, is the universe biting back at me.
It’s gobbling me up, chewing me about, spitting me out, and stamping all over
me. I’m constantly weaving between sharp falling pillars of fate which are
vying to trip me up every time I am able to think of a single cogent thought in
my head. Someone or something out there is switching my thoughts off. Something
or someone out there is directly and deliberately punishing me for my thoughts.
Most of the intellectual property in my skull doesn’t belong to me.
I suspect it
might be an invisible man with a pioneering gadget. I tend to attract that kind
of folk. He’s brought an entourage with him. They do a lot of other things to
me, apart delete and insert thoughts.
My mind is
completely blank because of this, quite often. I’m surprised I can spit this
out. It’s a strain to recall anything positive in the world during some
depressive states. During the long fearful watches of the night I totally
forget about the Holy Spirit. These downturns of mood are not natural though. I
feel that they are induced and placed into me like a virus by the Illuminati,
or whoever the hell else it is out there who like tyrannising other people. Left
to my own devices, I would not be so anxious and gloomy. I’ve gotten sick of
praying to be left alone. They do say that Hell is other people.
