Angry, frustrated, afraid, hurt, torn.

I'm furious. Seething. Filled with contempt. Bitter. I'm betrayed. I'm let down. I'm self loathing. I'm a coward. I'm emotionally freewheeling. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm confused. And I don't know why. Emotions have never been my strong suite. I lie to people to protect their feelings. I lie to people to protect myself. But I can't lie to myself. Not often. Small things I can. I can convince myself of a memory. Or an idea. But I can't beat myself into submission. I'm too strong. To quick. To thinking. And yet for all that power I am stuck in a loop. A vicious nasty feedback of fury, loathing, cowardice, anger, loneliness, bitterness, self deprecation, self deception, self denial, self enablement, self defeating, self inspiring. I am fine. Emotionally neutral. Sailing through the world, wrapped up in creativity and mental freedom through mental exertion.

And then something happens to shake that self delusion. And I crash into my emotions like a yacht into a hurricane. I get angry. I hold onto the anger, I feed it constantly through mental replays of the situation. I then don't deal with it, and so internalize it, and make it grow and fester until I am so detached from the object of my anger that the only way to deal with the anger is to wrap it up around the object and throw it away. Pretend it never happened. Bury it. Find a creative problem to drown my thoughts in, to squash any ideas that focus on the anger and the hurt. Until it happens again. And it does.

Right now I'm seething over an action some friends did. It wasn't directed at me, it wasn't to spite me. It was just them enacting their own frustrations and anger. It affected my world through. I saw it as an attack. As a giant FUCK YOU. I was being shafted by my friends. I felt betrayed. I felt angry. And then I felt a coward. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't raise it. I couldn't broach the subject. I still can't. This fucking writing is my passive way of expressing it. I am a coward. Too damned scared of what might happen should I express how I am feeling. Why? What possible outcome could there be? How horrific could it end up? Instead I alienate my friends. I drift away. Become obtuse. Until finally the friendship is stifled under a pillow of silent loathing.

And yet, the more I see it from their points of view - which I'm projecting as I haven't spoken to them - the more I realize that their actions were focused solely on their feelings. Feelings they were unable to articulate. They couldn't share either. They couldn't open up and tell me how they were feeling. My rage, my frustration, my sense of betrayal is ebbing. I wasn't betrayed. I was part of what I do all the time. I witnessed isolation. I was in a sense witnessing my own self, reflected in their actions. Perhaps that was why I was so angry. I was frustrated at their frustration. I was afraid I AM afraid that I am like them. Stuck.

OK. So I just chatted to the one person. Via gmail talk. Well chatted is the wrong word. I typed. I explained my frustrations. I told him what I was doing - isolating - and I told him I was sorry. I feel better now. Now just for the other one. That's going to be hard. She doesn't have gmail talk. I can't hide behind my screen. I guess I'll have to do it face to face. Oh dear non-existent deity help me.

I really have run out of blog. Having spoken - via via, shut the fuck up I know, but baby steps right? - about my  anger towards him, I'm now oddly calm. I feel better. Relief. So. Maybe talking about how I feel honestly is a good thing.

What do you do? Be honest.

Fear and Loathing in Joburg

We were burgled. Someone broke into our apartment, snuck around the house and took small items. Then stole the front door keys and let themselves out. They did have the courtesy to lock the front door behind them - you never know who's out there right? Insurance has paid out, I've got better stuff than before the robbery. My cards will... in time... be replaced with up-to-date photos. I sorted out my passport which I'd been meaning to do for ages. In all a win right?

So why is it that every little sound makes me jump out of my skin? I visited friends this weekend, and didn't feel safe in their homes either. It's that tightness in the chest, the clenching of the heart as it begins to rapidly beat, the sound of blood in the ears, the sweating, the panic, the fear. The burglars have hit seven apartments in as many weeks all in this area. The cops brush it off as a spree before Christmas. They say things like - be thankful they didn't slaughter you in your sleep. How comforting.

Any yet the only way I get to sleep is by quaffing sleeping pills. Then in the morning I am so drugged up I can barely keep my eyes open at work. Unless I'm active I just want to sleep. And yet at night, sleep is furthest from my mind. Should I change my whole world and become a night person? Sleeping during the day and only moving about in fear during the night? No of course not. That's silly.

So what can I do? Just get over it? I can't. My stupid mind is so active, so fast, so quick to point out that that small noise could be a metal skeleton key in the lock. It could be the tick of a burglars wrist watch... perhaps the one he stole from me. That sudden breeze, which in the heat is a comfort, now is the gale from without let in by the front door opening to let the murderer within...

A million noises set off my nerves and my mind in a million directions. A dear friend spent the first week staying in my flatmates room (he was away) just so I could sit in my room knowing there was someone else in the house. How silly. And yet how effective! I've just had a terrible evening. I was watching some show, and the door buzzed. Fear, panic, hide! But I answered it. It might be a friend coming over to stay.

It wasn't. It was a voice. Someone slurring and offering smokes. He claimed he had the wrong number. Did he? Or was he simply testing to see who was home? And if so, maybe he thought I wasn't home, and now has decided to seek revenge. Is tonight the night that I learn that the Jews were right? I thought my private hell would be a lesbian jelly pit where everyone spoke Afrikaans and smelled vaguely of blue-cheese. Now I know what it will be: A massive dark house filled with doors and open windows, and shadows trying to creep in. I shall live eternity wishing they'd just kill me and be done with it. Said shadows may be lesbians who only speak Afrikaans compounding the terror.

Tonight I am not going to take the drugs, but put a radio onto static hiss. I'm hoping the sound will block out all but the loudest of burglar like noise and allow me to get some sleep. Any ideas on how to make my imagination shut down for the night so that shadows stop turning into assassins? I could watch a whole season of Glee and see if that helps...

But what I want to know is: Where is this fear coming from? And why am I afraid? If someone breaks in, points a gun at me, am I so afraid of death that I am able to induce such panic and phobia? Seriously? What do I fear? Being raped? Being cut and sliced? I don't think so. It would hurt, but it would be over fairly quickly I imagine. And I'd get compassionate leave...

So what is it? Well perhaps that's what fear is: The unknown. I don't know what I'm afraid of, but I know it's out there... whatever it is. And when it gets here, my fear will be justified. How stupid. This emotion was evolved to prevent us from heading towards big scary animals? Or as a by-product of imagination... in which case my gift is my curse. Sigh. I must just get over it. Fucker. Get over it.

What do you do when afraid? Do you - like me - wander the house naked with a sword in one hand, cell phone in the other? Turning on all the lights and quadruple checking that all windows and doors are sealed? Only then to retire to your space and sit listening for the sounds of another body? Even as I type, my chest is tight. Loosen up. Breath. Relax. Take a deep breath and exhale. A little better perhaps.

Well until next time...