Paranoid Me

That I’m a bona fide certifiable paranoid is no secret anymore. But__ how deep it runs, not so many people are aware of. Not even if one is living in and about my immediate neighbourhood like let’s say under one roof. Apparently, I can I conceal (without trying and with success) the truth inside a package of seemingly perfect, logical, sensible and sane blunt straightforward reasoning wrapped in a fluffy cloud of neat and clean appearance coupled with nonchalant devil-may-care attitude.

The source of my paranoia is –what-else- people of course! I cannot stand them close to me. Not even their voices heard from over the fence. They disturb my Zen! I cannot even sit in my gazebos or be in the garden if they are in theirs. If I heard them talking, I feel like I’m eavesdropping and it makes me uncomfortable. I want to build a fort-like sort of fence around my property but of course, it is not allowed by building society for several of obvious (to them) and not obvious (to me) reasons.

A glimpse of their countenance seen through the gaps between fences, plantings, trellis pergolas or whatever is enough to send me running inside in a sheer panic, afraid they might perhaps want to strike a conversation with me about mundane (what else?) things and I absolutely have no desire to do that.

I want to be able to walk in my garden in all quiet and tranquillity. So, what I do? I garden when they are asleep!   I erected fences, planted 500 tulips, divided perennials and sown annuals in the middle of the night till early in the morning.

I potted around my plot in the pouring rain (which is quite enjoyable) knowing they will never dare to come out in that sort of weather.

I peep through open doorways and windows before going outside making sure that no one but no one is out there waiting for me. That way, I will not be forced to say hello and thousand other little unimportant things like the weather and God knows what.

I averted my face and pretend I’m preoccupied with something (reading emails, answering phone calls, etc.) whenever I am forced to endure letting myself be seen in public. I run to my car as fast as I could and slam the door before anyone can get a chance to stop me on my track.

I avoid mailman, delivery people, kids selling waffles… anyone who could divert my attention away from isolation and solitude.

The funny thing is: everyone thinks I’m sociable, good conversationalist, life of the party etc. kind of person. My children, in-laws friends and co-workers included. The reason probably is I believe in the saying that if you do anything, anything at all; forced or not you have to give it your best or otherwise you might as well forget about it.

So, whenever I am “forced” to socialize, I don’t do small talk (I show genuine interest because I really am interested. People interest me a great deal, as long as they are not crowding my style) say only things that matters and see to it that a conversation is at least leading to somewhere substantial and not just another polite inquiries about nothing important in particular. People say I am a good listener. And true, I really listen. I find that one can learn a lot by merely listening.  It seems I inspired trust from most people without being aware how I do it. They often tell me their woes and secrets which is at times quite taxing. 

Do they know how heavy a burden of too many told secrets and to keep it safely tucked away under lock and key? Psychologically, it could be quite trying. Especially if you have some issues of your own. But yeah, people are born selfish and careless when it comes to others. Their problems are the worst kind and their troubles are the only ones that matter. Surprise, surprise.

But enough about that or otherwise we are in for a very long blog post and I heard/read that most don’t like lengthy ones which I am not even sure if they have a right to determine what someone could or could not pen because everybody has choices (to read or not to read) anyway.

Anyway, where am I?

Ah, I’m about to say that forget scientific explanations (for once) medical terms and clinical mumbo-jumbo; I am saying this as another ordinary person without falling back on my academic knowledge on the subject: I think being weird/psycho/eccentric/crazy/loony/cuckoo or whatever___ sits in the blood; or genes/DNA or whatever it is that’s responsible for carrying some certain traits through generation. I believe this condition is hereditary. I saw it from relatives, siblings, and offspring through the years. It manifests one way or the other. Some have it more pronounce and others can hide the symptoms better (like me) 🙂

But it is there, lurking just above the surface or sitting in the deepest chamber of their souls (mind) waiting for some environmental trigger to jump-start their genetic make up.

There is no cure for it. It sits in someone’s core (or not) forming the real basis of ones personalit(y)ies. With me, I can manage; as long as I don’t spend too much time out there or don’t get too close to someone…