XML Feeds
| « Sunday, 9 am | A day at the seaside. » |
Despair, despair as I know it, has two faces, a private one, to be displayed indoors only, and a public one,to go out to the shops, to show to family and friends, acquiantances and colleagues.
Private despair has the face of a middle aged haggard wreck that style forgot. Glothes that are well matched together are a luxury long forgotten, make up is a thing of the past,the hair is greasy, the skin dull, the heart full to the brim with sorrow , fear, guilt, and remorse.Private dispair has no sense of time and gets up and eats at silly times, because nobody cares anyway. Private despair eats cold leftovers out of the tin or, stale biscuits , often leaving a trail of crumbs on the floor, or a ketchup stain down the front of an already scruffy sweater, but who cares anyway? Private despair has lost all sense of dignity and self respect, having no one to witness it's downfall.
Public despair tries to always look immaculate, choses colours and shapes carefully and has a friendly and smilie face. Public despair is polite to every one,and always keen to please. Public despair is well spoken and articulate, well groomed good mannered, and smells nice. Public despair has given up smoking and takes care to eat healthily. But it is despair all the same, it is a plea to be loved, a cry for attention, a frantic attempt at concealing the ugliness of what lives behind closed doors.
Even when I 'm out, trying to make friends, trying to fit in, trying to do what everybody else does, I carry that burden inside me, the burden of compulsive hoarding and it's adverse side effects on housekeeping, the fact that I have a phobia so severe that I can no longer open mail or answer the phone , the fear of falling downwards with no hope of salvation.
Anxiety is the cross I have to bear, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, since about four years now, weighing me down,preventing me from living life to the full.
But it does not show when I'm out in public, nobody knows, the friends, the colleagues, the shop assistants, the passers by in the street, not a single one of them knows.
