It's about 11 o'clock in the evening right now, and mercilessly hot and humid outside. Mad dogs and Englishmen, as they say. The air conditioner is keeping up, though, and my fat ass can't complain. Not about that, anyway. Right now I have a proverbial bone to pick with my pathetic, addled brain. I need it to stop doing a few things that it seems emphatically intent on doing. Misplaced guilt and severe anxiety are taking their toll, and I really need some time to gather my strength. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I do know that I want to be free of my neuroses, for quality of life reasons. I'm not sure if it's possible to "gather my strength" in my more sane moments so that I may better survive insanity. Sort of like getting vital supplies past the enemy to sustain troops in the field. In reality, mental illness is just something some of us have to lump. I'm enervated and weary of this nonsense, however.
Earlier today, I felt myself growing anxious and afraid of being cast aside by my beloved Linda. That feeling traveled well with another nasty thought about my relationship with my brother, which is close. We went to a movie in Boston, and as always he paid for the whole affair, which included $25 for parking. Naturally, I thanked him for both the movie and lunch, but a creeping sense of profound self-loathing eroded my contented mirth. I felt like such a cheap bastard, even though I know it's not that...I just don't have any money. One needs to have money to be cheap. It's not like I'm holding out. Later in the afternoon, I realized that poverty was fueling the feelings of angst, anxiety and genuine fear that were manifest whenever I thought of my girlfriend. And not a thing can be done about it...not right now, anyway. And beneath that terrible feeling of panic was something deeper and harder to identify, but those money concerns sapped me of whatever strength I might possess and I squirmed within my Hawai'an shirt. The Great Nameless Solicitude is always there, working on the gray matter of my brain the same way oxygen rusts out an old '57 Chevy.
How's that for an analogy?
On paper, as they say, things are going really well with Linda, and I love her dearly. But always there is the sense that I'm fucking up, that I've done something wrong...really wrong. I often feel as if I'm suffocating, and that I'm a wicked man who deserves judgement and a harsh sentence. I'm squirming beneath the weight of a guilty conscience. My transgressions are unknown to me, however.
2 comments:
I feel that way, too, about my husband. I feel like a burden because I don't feel like I have value. I feel guilty.
But, then I remember what I bring to the relationship and I don't feel so bad.
Don't be a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you keep telling yourself that something's going to go wrong, it probably will.
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