When Inside My Mind

This is personal… I'm trying to explain the troubles of paranoia to those who want to understand/connect It's not a story, it's a personal piece that I did for English but I'm still open to criticism.

I’m walking down the corridor, aware of every giggle, murmur and footstep. I put my headphones in to drown out the noise and focus on preventing my ears from blending in to my dyed red hair. I haven’t done anything. I’m not standing out, not too much anyway. Nothing is being said about me and I’m not the butt of anyone’s joke. But still the iron bands tighten around my lungs and I have to fight the urge to turn and glare. “It’s just paranoia, it’s not real”. This seems to have become my mantra. And yet for me it is real. Every shout or laugh is directed at me. Every look or comment has negativity and knowing behind it. For me, school is a waking nightmare, a dream that I cannot escape, this world, this life, chose me.

 

I want out.

 

I don’t want to spend ten minutes getting my sister to convince me that my hair straighteners are unplugged and that, yes, it does also mean that they’re off. It’s not my wish to spend hours panicking about whether or not I can trust my friends, my family, my teachers. Everybody can deceive. Everybody lies. This is not the life that I dreamt of as a little girl, so trusting and carefree. Disillusioned and naive. My imagination seems determined to crush me.

 

Are you laughing at me yet? Have I bored you? It’s understandable if you’re fighting the urge to sigh, roll your eyes and call me melodramatic. There isn’t a need for you to continue reading this. After all, this is my problem, and only I can deal with it.

 

My paranoia comes and goes in bouts, some short and panicky; others long and oppressive. There’s no denying that it’s a problem. It’ll always be there. Whenever I finally rid myself of one paranoid whisper, a new one starts to niggle in the corner of my mind. It pushes and pulls and forces its way through the barriers of my brain. It feeds on my panic, my doubts, my despair. Some are from childhood; the traditional hand under the bed reaching out to grab you as you go to the bathroom terror. Others are from real experiences. Like my fear of spiders causing me to check my room three times a night for them, which was bordering on an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, due to waking up to finding one directly above my face one wonderful morning.

 

Of course, you don’t care about that do you? Why don’t you just put this page down and do something more interesting with your time? I’m sure that there are better things to do.

 

The worse time for a wild imagination is at night, when the slightest creak is a robber and any change in temperature is a fire. Sure these could be called reasonable worries, but my subconscious is only avoiding one thing.

 

Sleeping.

 

I’ve never been that good at sleeping; I don’t think I ever will be. It’s not my most favourite pastime and, to be truly honest, I’m fine if it stays that way. When I was younger I was plagued by bedwetting and nightmares; now I’m haunted by nightmares and panic attacks.

 

You’re laughing at me aren’t you? Those kind of things aren’t unusual for a child. But regular nightmares, for a teenager, that’s embarrassing.

 

It’s amazing how closely linked nightmares and panic attacks are. It seems to be almost impossible to have one without the other. Over all they both seem to connect to one thing, and that’s my paranoia. My mum says that what you dream about is important and, if deciphered properly, can tell you anything. From the state of my dreams, all I’ve figured out is that I seriously need a “head doctor” or that my brain resembles a very abstract painting. I’m digressing, but trust me on this one, don’t try to look too much into the meanings of your dreams. They’re just made up of whatever’s floating around your subconscious.

 

One of my least favourite nightmares is the one about the man in the mirror. No not the Michael Jackson song, I can hear you sniggering. This is a shadow of a dream; a waking dream. The kind that you’re utterly convinced that you’re awake and then IT happens and you scream like hell.

 

It’s a simple dream. I wake up in my bed and slowly sit up. There’s a full length mirror to me and I just have to look at it as I’m climbing out. That’s when I freeze. Out of the darkness behind me is a hooded man, drifting towards me. I can’t turn, I can’t shout, I’m paralysed. When he’s directly behind me he stops. Then, with one hand he reaches out for the back of my neck, whilst his other hand is pulling back his hood. The man’s fingers touch my neck, I see his face in the mirror and I scream. I wake immediately but I’m not screaming. In fact, I’m struggling to breathe at all. I spend the next fifteen odd minutes trying to restore air to my lungs and refusing to so much as glance at my mirror. My heartbeat returns to normal and it’s all over.

 

I still can’t look at mirrors in the dark. I can’t watch horror films or psychological thrillers because of how my memory will incorporate them into such dreams. I have a strong fear of clowns because I don’t trust people who smile too much. A phobia of puppets and china dolls because, let’s just admit it, they’re far too creepy and are going to murder us in our sleep. And I break out into nervous sweat when presented with a needle because why on earth would I happily agree to being stabbed by someone I knew, let alone a total stranger.

 

But of course, “it’s just paranoia, it’s not real”.

 

There are many other dreams: Ones full of gore that I should not be able to picture having never seen it for real. Ones that trick me into thinking that everything’s alright and then terrifying me back into consciousness. In some of them I’m trapped, having no choice but to follow the plot set out for me like a puppet on a string. Others I’m in full control and yet still feel panicky and out of my depth.

 

I don’t tell my parents about these dreams anymore. To be honest I don’t think they really care, but that could be the paranoia talking.

 

Everybody wants a dream world, a perfect world. Well mine’s is without dreams. “It’s only paranoia, it’s not real”. One day that will strike true in my ears and then I’ll be free.

 

Sometimes when I’m listening to music or in a deep conversation, I forget. I push the paranoid part of me away and manage to relax, to feel natural. I become normal. Free. Of course I don’t notice until later when I realise how tranquil I am, but it is amazing all the same.

 

I used to try and go to sleep, taking medication, calming sprays, breathing techniques; just anything to get me a few extra hours. But I’ll be completely honest with you. I’m scared. I’m so caught up in this vicious cycle of paranoia and mistrust that I’ve lost the ability to trust myself. I’m terrified of my own imagination, of losing control. Sometimes the world starts spinning around me and all the surrounding noises seem distant and I feel this overwhelming urge to put my head on my knees ad cover my ears. But I’m determined. I will keep on fighting my fears, my paranoia. I will overcome my internal battle, striking back with my chant: “it’s only paranoia, it’s not real”.

 

I’m not broken. Don’t think for even one second that I need fixed. This is a part of me, however terrifying it is. Dare not judge me or think to mock me. After all, my mind manages that fine on its own.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Powerful description and story in your words. I like the way you described the fear and how they thought of other people concern for them. The logic is true. Each of us must carry a burden of good and bad. We can get use to anything. I like the direct and positive ending. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote