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Probably the most manly act of my life has been to force myself to ride my bike across an overpass. I’m agoraphobic. If you don’t own a severe phobia you can’t imagine the soul deep nausea that merely visualizing what for you is an ordinary act can evoke in a phobic person. Even drawings of people leaning out of a window can upset me.
In San Francisco riding across the Golden Gate Bridge was terrifying. I felt that if I found myself stranded there my only choice would be to jump off to end the pain. So you understand that the idea of being trapped on a narrow surface above ground is my very worst nightmare.
In early September the many fears, stresses and pains left me similarly afraid to let my thoughts wander beyond a tightly limited locus. If I let my mind’s eye stray I’d find my toes touching the edge of an abyss …
Ouch, this overwrought imagery really stinks.
Essentially I managed to not think about everything wrong in my life past, present and potential. Not so much suppress them as not let me rise to the surface. Especially at night in bed.
Fear was one of the things that poisoned my health. (Yeah, I’m such a weakling and a ninny.)
Sigh, this still isn’t turning out the way I’d like.
I managed to stop thrashing about in my own sea of troubles. Even though I wasn’t using an SSRI I became as passive and inert as someone taking psychopharmaceuticals.
I dropped off the web. Nothing new posted on any of my sites. Email from friends ignored (Sorry!).
My life consisted largely of sitting on the couch. Though I did sometimes change the side I sat on.
I give up on this post. But in the spirit of James Branch Cabell’s Economical Theory of Literature I’ll post it rather than toss it.
Anyway, I’m back.
* Title I had in mind when I started.