There is a little voice in my head that likes to make connections between totally unrelated things. I call it the if-then voice, because this is its favourite line.
If you don’t do that – then this will happen, OR, if you do that – then this will be the result.
It likes to predict the outcome, does the if-then voice. It likes to consider any action – or non action – in terms of what will come next and in line with its own, mysterious, agenda, which is mostly around controlling me.
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I have been prescribed some Temazepam, to help me sleep.
It sits, alongside all the other well-intended treatment, in my kitchen cupboard, whilst I toss, and turn, and wait for the panic to wear itself out–
I have never been very good with medication.
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When I get up at 6:30 in the morning, because I need an extra half an hour to weigh my breakfast and measure out my lunch; then it sometimes crosses my mind that maybe I’ve gone a little overboard with the whole control thing –
But, because I’m in a rush (by the time I’ve spent the prescribed minutes eating each regulated teaspoonful in the right order), and as I have become accustomed (over the years) to my drawn out morning routine, I push the thought aside -
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“But careful, careful! Don’t get excited. You know what happens when you get excited and exalted, don’t you?….Yes….And then, you know how you collapse like a pricked balloon, don’t you?…Having no staying power….Yes, exactly….So, no excitement. This is going to be a quiet, sane fortnight.”
Extract from Jean Rhys, Good Morning, Midnight
A lot of any emotion can feel a little too much.
It’s better to keep everything calm, stable and on the same level – even when the emotion’s something good like excitement.
We’ve been repressing things for years. Maybe it’s linked into civilisation coming along and writing the social rules. Or, maybe it’s just part of the human condition; an emotional version of defence.
An analytical mind is an asset. An over-analytical mind is a curse.
It means that you read things in to everything and tie yourself in knots trying to solve questions that can’t be solved.
Some things just are.
Some things don’t make sense.
Most people are far too complex to analyse satisfactorily.
There’s a high probability that I’ve fractured my ankle. The irony in the situation is fantastic. I’ve been paranoid about it for years and then, when I am least expecting it. Wham.
Another reminder that we’re not infallible.
Another reminder that you can’t control everything.
Another reminder that we’re small fry in the grand scheme of things.
I’ll explain how my random chain of thoughts all links up.
I have been scared of the thought police for a long time. The notion’s not as fantastical as it sounds. It’s just a little more internal.
In Orwell’s fabulous 1984, the thought police are out there. In my experience, they’re in your head. We know what we should and shouldn’t think. We’re well versed in checking our thoughts and the cautionary ‘I know I shouldn’t think this but’ type of apologies; accustomed to self policing what we do and don’t say to ourselves.
It’s probably okay in moderation. It’s probably part of our development into moral and ethical beings; of learning where the boundaries are.
I just tend to take things to extremes – and it’s taken me a while to appreciate that your imagination’s a very different landscape to the one out there.
