My Neurosis

Us humans, are in some ways, quite pathetic. We believe that we already understand so much, yet when we reach that limit of understanding, we complain and criticize what we've worked so hard on to achieve. Is that why we have religion or the supernatural? What is the real reason we cannot travel further than the stars? What is it, that has the power to turn fate around in an instant? Perhaps we have more control than we first thought, however that distinctive desire may craft us into naïve and gullible beings. What should be our real fears and how can we fight against them? I know my faith will keep me alive but I’m not sure how long the rest of this world can take it; Armageddon only lives next door…
It becomes more apparent to me everyday that my neurosis is growing stronger, especially when the tedious school lessons seem to get more and more stressful. The number of times I’ve increasingly had to ask my teachers the typical, dull and obvious questions is shocking. Not that I can help it, although the times Mrs. Madden has had to repeat herself on my behalf is probably sending her towards insanity. It’s an identical scenario before and after school too. I constantly need reassurance and I am forever wary of the hazards and some unbelievable illusions in my own callous mind.
One time on the way home from school, I felt a presence on my back, like the frightening chill of an early winter’s morning. Every now and then, I suddenly froze and slowly rotated my head to the right slightly, just enough to check that there wasn’t anyone following me, but in a position where I was ready to run for my life. On a similar occasion, at Mandy’s party, it was fancy dress. The fact that I couldn’t recognise anyone in their ridiculous outfits made me paranoid; they could’ve been complete strangers and some of them most likely were, which made me incredibly tense. My neurosis forced me to leave within only 10 minutes on arrival.
To me, flamboyance is ignorance. Being surrounded in any public place just makes it oppressive and pessimistic, like in school; I have to wait longer at the end of lesson for the student to filter out of the corridors before I can make a move. An idyllic situation for me would be an empty green field without ending; no walls or fences, no flowers or trees, a bright blue sky without a bird in sight and not even a mouse in the lush green grass. I could run forever, I could sing as loud as I wanted to and have the freedom to think whatever I liked without being judged. No eyes to spy on me and silence; just perfect silence.
One day I will find that place, but in the meantime, I can sit in my room and listen to the crisp and therapeutic crackling of the fire. The best place in the world for me right now is definitely my bedroom. With it’s plain buttermilk walls and clothes in a neat pile on the wood floor. My single bed, a lone mattress spread out at a peculiar angle with several sheets as fine as bible pages. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if my bed was raised off the floor, for he fear of something lurking underneath preparing to swallow me dryly in my sleep, to take over my soul, and I’d become a mindless and coarse little monster…
I often spend my free time making strict lists and drawing patterns or thinking about Nirvana or a Niche, and then consequently mapping out all the ways I could go about it. My mother tells me every morning before I leave the house with her sweetest charm, “Don’t worry, be happy” and smiles. The dimples in her cheeks and the dewiness of her skin reminds me of new life, like the tenderness of a newborn baby, which makes me happy, and that’s why I have the courage to walk out the door everyday, it’s because of that hopeful hint of tomorrow that I have the strength to go on…
Sometimes I’m very against leaving the house. There are a handful of places I refuse to go such as a cinema trip or a visit to the museum. I hate the town centre and going to popular or crowded shops. Despite my passion for music, I dare not go near a nightclub or see my favourite band at a live gig, the reasons for that are clear. I prefer to avoid the dentist as the smell and dentist tools give me nightmares and trigger my horrific visions that prison me until I drown in my sorrows. I hate the theatre too.
It is still an inevitable journey to the doctor that I dislike the most. I acknowledge the necessity of it, yet the sooner I am cured the sooner the taunting trips to the psychotic ward will conclude. I guess there is a minor collection of advantages about my neurosis. I can always write nifty twists at the end of my creative writing assignments. I am more emotional and particularly sensitive to certain events and exclusively, wise and sympathetic, which can and usually is an optimum to my few loyal associates. In the long-term, and the mourningful, pitiful eyes of surrounding peers, I am just an insidious problem that should be avoided at all costs. Sometimes I feel so neglected, I flail and fidget unnecessarily, which can be extremely flagrant at times, and is another legitimate reason not to go out into the fragile, public eye. I am a freakish, disabled retard to some shallow, inarticulate people, which makes me limitlessly incensed, and I know this is a dangerous route to an even more prolonged mental health problem.
I ask myself everyday, “When will I be allowed to leave this monotonous game of battleships?” and while I say this, I am hysterical, but hollow, as if you were to shake me from side to side you would ignite a thousand fireworks, demons, setting the sky on fire. I confront the elongated, fancy mirror in my mother’s room. (I do not own one in my bedroom for the fear of a magical beast will enter my environment like the countless times it has done so in my dreams.) I greet the curious monstrosity that glares at me with egoistic pride, then I promise myself, that reflection of my heart will gradually evolve, with perseverance but pernicious mood swings I must survive.
The wonderful thing about being enigmatic, is having the art of enhancing people’s grace and charismatic personalities, whilst also being able to tactfully highlight some obnoxious traits and disgusting habits. I have the ability to help my friends without becoming entangled in their minor conundrums. I am reminded, “people will only see what they want to” by Mandy’s quaint and contemplative attitude. If I besiege myself with a positive and alluring matter, I could be audacious and less austere, which I suppose is a mere fantasy away. When I escape the menacing devils attacking my mind and stealing my prospects, I am sure I will make the best decisions to quit this traumatic episode. Prophesy of my soul will burst into flames and be reincarnated into a local universal service, where I can aid the wounded and cleanse the spirit of other damned humans. I am nothing more than a ghost, plagued with horror and spite, hypnotic like the decadence of my sketchbook patterns and stories, untold by my secret decipher.
So, I may as well live in darkness, all good things come to an end. I am not afraid for myself, but for the coherent future, bold and blind to any interference; inducing without infallibility. The indignity of it is almost humorous to me.
This is why I know the indomitable spirit is real. The stars travel to infinity, and fate will be irrationally inflicting no matter how much we learn; the only way we can postpone our pathetic ascendancy is by accepting the sporadic splendour of my neurosis. Armageddon only lives next door…