Descent into Madness
It began with a moment of kindness and consideration. She warned
me that it would only lead to me having the same problems she had, and it would
be better if I didn’t know. But I was insistent and the more she tried to put
me off, the more I demanded that she tell me. So she did, and I laughed at her.
Fancy not being able to drink properly because you thought about all the air
you were swallowing with each gulp!
Within a week I had developed what the doctors called a
reluctant swallow. Then I became obsessed with the amount of saliva in my
mouth, especially as I lay in bed trying to sleep. On my side, I always felt I
was about to dribble on my pillow; on my back, I kept needing to clear my
throat and swallow.
Matters really took a dive when my growing obsession with my
body’s semi-autonomous behaviours focused on how I interacted with others. I
became painfully aware of staring into their eyes. If I looked away then it
must appear that I was not interested, or worse, I had something to hide. I
became so wrapped up in watching how others in any conversation reacted, and trying
to mimic their timing, that I would lose all track of the topic and be left
staring vacantly when asked a question. Various strategies such as looking at
their teeth or gazing into the distance became similarly distracting and
eventually friends began to ask me if I was feeling alright. This was the trigger for unleashing the
Tourette’s impulses. We all have them at varying degrees below the surface. I
could stop the physical violence, abusive tirade and even the simple urge to do
something socially inappropriate, but only at the cost of developing a nervous
tick. I realised that this involuntary twitch had always been there and was my
response to remembering embarrassing moments in my life.
Lack of sleep and increasing, self-imposed isolation led to
depression. I needed to break out of this destructive spiral before the
depression sucked all the will-power out of me.
That was when the obsessive over-analysing began. What are
we? Give a bunch of neurons a few memories and some self-awareness and they think
they know what reality is! We are stuck inside a skull receiving
electro-chemical impulses from various sensory organs and hallucinating an
abbreviated facsimile of the true chaos out there. How can such a
claustrophobic and stunted existence be tolerated? We are blindmen feeling our
way through a maze of thorns and razorblades.
My thoroughness proved to be my undoing. As I jumped from
the bridge and the rope around my neck pulled taught, it jarred the gun I was
holding to my head. The bullet missed my temple and severed the rope. The cold
water of the polluted river caused me to vomit up the overdose of pills and the
passing pleasure cruiser that fished my unconscious body out, just happened to
be hosting an A and E doctors’ convention.
‘A cry for help!’ they euphemise.
I smile, and even laugh occasionally, as I sit against the
soft walls of my prison – arms strapped across my chest.
Help.
Copyright owned by S. F. Elton, 29th August 2018
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