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Separation

21 December, 2012

It was the work’s christmas do last night. I didn’t go, in the six years ive been with the company I haven’t gone once. Usually the next day when those that went are sharing stories of who drank too much, who behaved badly, who was sick, I have a pang of regret that I wasn’t there and tell myself that next time I will find the courage to go, next year I will be part of what I feel I made myself miss out on. But this year as I overheard the stories of drunken falls, lost phones, free wine and unwelcome sitters on laps, I didn’t have that feeling of missing out. When others were grouped round a screen laughing at pictures taken on the dance floor, I didn’t go and join them. Because I don’t care.

Christmas, you may have noticed, is almost here and I have a week off. Apart from the day itself I don’t have any plans (apart from an intention to write as much as possible) and if anything I have avoided making plans. The only exception is that I texted GBM yesterday saying I missed her and was she free during the week (she is) and did she want to do lunch (she does). This evening, I went to my sister’s for dinner as I usually do on a Friday, but left early blaming tiredness. Which is essentially true, but it’s also true that I just didn’t want to be around anyone else, not even family.

Over this last year, I have felt a separation developing between me and Other People. Maybe it’s because my job has been so stressful and unrelenting in the last twelve months that I don’t have the mental strength left to give a shit. Maybe it’s because I have devoted more of myself to writing in all its forms this year, and writing being such a solitary pursuit means that I am living more within my own mental space.

But I think it’s because whatever mental and emotional condition(s) affect me are becoming more pronounced. I have never been a confident person socially, and I have become more withdrawn. The mood swings I have always had have become more extreme. What miniscule confidence I have in myself has diminished. The paranoia and fundamental suspicion and lack of trust in others have increased.

I feel I am approaching a point where I think some form of therapy would be useful – indeed a few weeks back during a very dark phase I decided this had gone on too long and I would phone my doctor, but in a couple of days it passed and I never called. It’s not that I want to be treated or cured or tamed or mellowed or my moods flattened or my confidence heightened, just that I would like to know what causes me to be me. I would like to know if I really am bipolar/borderline/paranoid/depressive/autistic or just a grumpy fucker who has spent too long on his own and has never bothered to grow up.

You have probably not bothered reading my self-indulgent whining this far, and it’s not even particularly well written. But guess what – I don’t give a shit. Because this post is intended to fulfill my blog’s primary objective – namely to order and vocalise my thoughts. This one is for me not you.

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From → Blogging, My Head

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