Paranoia

The front door closes and i hear footsteps grow quieter and more distant. All sounds become muted apart from the heavy intermittent buzz from the music on the upper floor. Unfortunately, it is not enough to block out the growing silence. My mind begins to panic as it realises it is alone with itself, It becomes self destructive when solitary. Safe thoughts deform at every opportunity.

Have you ever felt watched? Like somebody or something can hear every twitch, every blink or breath? Voyeurs do not exist purely in fiction, people tend to forget this, i wish i could. Another thought, was that door always so open? So wide and daunting. At what point did the corridor become dark and menacing and why does it choose to extend so, as if it is trying to appear frightening. No matter what the answer is, It has achieved its aims.

I take hold of the handle and pull the door shut, fast and firm. I wanted to break the silence, but this empty apartment spares none of its limited personality to help me. I try to keep my thoughts away from the nagging characters in my head. “We’re behind you” they say “we see you but you will never see us, even though you keep trying to catch us”.

I need distraction.

I am more than thankful that this space houses no mirrors, objects that could easily take the form of anything i imagine. At this point they would be the end of my sanity. I catch glimpses of figures, shadows and flashes of light but do not wish to chase them. I fixate my gaze on the newspaper. Five minutes of sanctuary as i thumb through the pages of The Observer. It leaves black residue on my fingers that burns ever so slightly and sweetly.

I soon retire from flicking the pages and realise that i am in no state to avert my attention further. Now is the time to overcome the paranoia, something i am never ready for. My head disassociates itself from my body, becomes an entirely different entity and prepares itself for the worst. I open the hallway door, the corridor taunts me and begs me to come in closer. Paranoia is hungry for it’s next meal. I begin to sing. Anything, any words that spring to mind, Just to break the silence. Silence is a serpent that seeps in and suffocates the eardrums. The words of the corridor, once so threatening, are now empty, no soul resides here. These walls are of brick and plaster. Such materials do not house a character or personality of their own, however, they still manage to taunt and mock me with their presence.

”It’s my mind playing tricks” i think to myself. ”I am not afraid of being alone here…That’s absurd”, But the quiver in my voice says otherwise. Fear grips me, it distorts all manner of objects and thoughts. It causes me to itch deep under my skin. An itch i am unable to scratch. I can’t endure much more of this.

This paranoid state is no new occurrence, nor will it ever become old. I have been running for longer than i care to remember. Running from the man at the top of the staircase who’s eyes blister my back as i descend, running from the creatures that dwell under beds and behind open doors, peeking through the space between the hinges. Anxiety forces me to run. My heart beats so fast i expect it to rupture at any moment. I feel every ounce of air vacate my lungs and my chest tightens. Crying out is prohibited when our old friend paranoia comes for supper. These are his rules not mine. He doesn’t want people to know he’s present at the table.

Some days I feel like a victim of my own imagination. Some days, I feel as though my own mind could be the death of me.

Paranoia is always hungry. Always wanting more than i can afford to give.

#5