Unwanted Loopy Guests.

Anyone who has been following my personal blog will know that I have, for some time now, been taking a break from writing on it.  In fact, as those few who are closest to me will know, I have actually taken a break from writing very much at all lately.

That having been said, I do strongly believe that it is important that we write about and share our experiences so that others – who may be experiencing similar things themselves or who have loved ones who do – might gain a better understanding or might know that they are not alone.

So, having written this after a particularly bad night last night, I thought I would share it with you.  It describes – perhaps very poorly – just the start of an episode.  Episodes which I all too often experience…

“You do know you’ve started to do it again.”  His voice was deep, assertive and critical.

“To do what again?” I replied not even bothering to look up from my book to see the no-one who wasn’t there.  The unwanted guest who had arrived without even coming.

“Enter the loop again”  He answered, almost without waiting for me to finish my question.  For he knew what my question would be just as instantly as I had formed it.

“He always does.” She suddenly offered from the dark recesses.

“Yep, always does.” Agreed another.  “Yep, always does.”  Echoed yet another.  “He can’t help himself.” Offered a fourth. “Useless, absolutely useless.”  Volunteered yet another, acidicly.

Momentarily staring at the patterns formed in the words on the page of the book I was reading, I tried to distract myself by focusing on the nothingness between their lines.

“It’s not like I mean to.”  I offered silently and -if I am honest – somewhat lamely. “Can’t you see that I’m reading.”

“No you’re not!”  Came the instant and acutely accurate reply.  “What you are doing is keeping your eyes busy whilst your mind rehashes the same thoughts over and over again!”

He was right and yet I so desperately wanted him not to be.  For what had begun purely as thoughts inside my head were now somehow external, audible.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”  I offered in my own defense. Desperately hoping for some compassion, some understanding?

“No. But then you never do.”  Came the instant and caustic response.  “And yet you always screw up, don’t you.” He added.  “After which, you always beat yourself up and then plop!  You are right back in the loop again aren’t you?”

“Maybe it wasn’t actually me who entered the loop.” I countered.  “Maybe its actually you who have all come out of it just so you can drag me back in.”

“We’re not the ones who were late this morning and are now sat beating ourselves up over it!”  Came the immediate somewhat indignant response… “No. We’re not the one’s.” Echoed agreement. “You’re the one who did that.” Another chimed in  “You can’t blame us.” Yet another volunteered. “You’re the one who has to rely on…”

“But it wasn’t my fault!” I snapped back before they could continue their onslaught.

Throwing my book on the seat next to me I got up and walked around my coffee table a few times hoping to distract myself from the caustic critical chorus that continued around me.  Clenching and un-clenching my fists as I did so, as if to somehow pump my way forward.

Forward being better than backward and also so much better than being static at this time.  But the simple truth was, however, that I had nowhere to go. There was no where that I could go. Not at 3 in the morning, at least.   But when you are in the middle of a gang of accusers,  a circle of critics, a bunch of bullies, all you really want to do is to get out of there. To somehow escape.

And yet here’s the deeper truth.  A truth the years have already taught me.   All too often, there is no escape.  All too often this scenario ends with my sitting, lost in the deepest nothingness of the loop, rocking myself backwards and forwards at the bottom of its arc.

Reaching down I picked up my coffee mug and took it to the kitchen  I placed it by the kettle I then switched the kettle on.  Returning to the lounge I tidied the seat cushions on the empty chairs and empty couch.  Why?  Who knows, it was just so much more preferable to standing waiting for the kettle to boil.

I picked up my phone and pressing it to life, glanced at the message-less home screen, before peering out of the windows in vague and somewhat crazy hope that somehow someone would be calling in to see me at silly o’clock in the morning.

“We’re really going to do this yet again, aren’t we?”  So very tired and in pain, I asked them. Desperately hoping beyond hope that perhaps this time they would leave me alone.

“You started it.”  Came the taunting response.  “So really, we’re not doing anything.  You are.”

“And anyway,” another added, “we’re not real, remember?  Your Psychiatrist told you so.”

“Yeah right, but reality is not a singular entity.”  I retorted.  I returned to the kitchen stopping suddenly – just inside the doorway as the fleeting image of a vague, abstract nothingness flashed past the corner of my vision.

“This is going to be another rough one.” The realisation pushed itself forward more as a fear than as  a thought or a statement.

I looked over at the kettle and the single mug stood there waiting.  One mug was all I needed.  After all, unwanted guests who only exist as auditory magnifications of your own twisted thoughts and internal dialogues don’t require your hospitality.