Tuesday, 1 December 2009

Once upon a time there was a very neurotic dinosaur...

To be reminded of a harsh reality always comes as quite a shock. This is undeniable, and expected. But when this reality is one you have begun to believe to be something which doesn't hold as much power as it previously had, the shock involved is substationally larger when you realise once again that is just as powerful as it has always been.

To be assaulted by a close friend is never pleasant, but when such an assault leads to a broken bone which then develops into a nerve condition which comes to be a part of my daily life - even now, four years and two months later, it's not overly surprising that this harsh reality of mine affected me rather a lot.

I didn't talk to anybody for a good two years. The prospect of any human contact made me feel queasy. And to have somebody touch my left wrist was a terrifying concept that I hoped would never become a reality. I was a mess. Then, along came my catalyst. The first time she came to speak to me she grabbed me by the left hand - a friendly gesture, but my worst fear, so I suppose it is kind of ironic that now, she can hold my hand freely and I wont even think twice. I wont lie, it took time. And lots of it. But I had learnt to trust my catalyst - or rather, she had taught me to trust her - something I will be eternally grateful for; it's kind of like a physical proof that the trust exists and I like that. But where I have become so comfortable in the company of my Fitz I guess I'd managed to somehow convince myself that at long last I was getting over my huge issue of human contact.

This weekend, however, prooved otherwise and resulted in I, the Fool, looking like a right plonker. Someone I know I can trust, somebody that I know wouldn't hurt me, someone that I sholdn't be scared of grabbed my wrist when I was least expecting it and once again I was consumed by my own oh-so familliar, irrational wave of fear.

It was embarrasing. It was scary. And it was also somewhat dissapointing. To be reminded so easily that something you wish to erase from your memory still affects you to such a great extent can't really be anything else, apart from disappointing.

I don't want this stupid fear to be a part of me anymore. I want it to go away. I don't have the energy, or will, to go through what I went through with my catalyst for every single person I meet. My answer? It is still the same as it was four years ago; avoid people, don't get close enough to them to allow them to hurt you. It's quite simple, although it must be said - it's quite lonesome too, but in all fairness the pain one gets from being lonley differs greatly to that of shitting yourself every time somebody goes near you.

I may well turn into a hermit one day. I guess that's okay.

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