Thursday, March 12, 2015

Jason Bourne / frantic running.

Why do I get visions of Jason Bourne running frantically past me, away from my life?

These last few days, I've felt a base-line of anxiety in my chest. It’s bearable, but it’s omnipresent. It’s a new type of being on edge. Something I'm not familiar with.

Yesterday was worse. I was perpetually fighting the desire to abandon my life. I had trouble concentrating, trouble really hearing people. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted no human contact. And what I could sense, was fear because I was acutely aware of how “not normal” I was feeling.

I could be fired for this anti-social behaviour.

If I were required to do something, would I be able to?

How can I nod my head and engage when I'm vacant and incapacitated?

Do I look as detached as I feel?

Fuck, I don’t give a shit Linda.

In the past I’ve described my panic attacks as being rooted in the fight or flight part of survival. This panicked, urgent burst of adrenaline that propels you forward zigging and zagging your way to a safer space. But instead of facing something life threatening, you’re at a social event or thinking about things you need to do. A panic attack is like nothing I’d ever experienced before. But that’s not what this is.

Well, this is rooted in the same survival instinct. I get this palpitation in the front of my chest that’s followed by visions of just running. Just getting the fuck out of here and finding safety in the distance between me and my life.

Obviously this isn't a truth. It’s not about physically leaving the people and places I know, especially since I’d have no way to support myself. What it does seem to be about is that initial feeling.

It’s this desire to escape. My visions are of running, of a Jason Bourne-like energy. Killing a guy with a bic pen. Parkouring my way away from a life that holds so little of me. It’s the moment you cut yourself free and can sprint for the tree line. It’s running towards safety. Maybe that’s what the craving is for, the sensation of an initial wave of freedom, followed by a impassioned, frantic race to safety. It’s knowing safety exists, and that you can get there.

That’s all I want these days. Safety. A quiet comfort. Everything I can use to comfort myself is bad for me. Food. Alcohol. Drugs. What else is there? Sex only works if you don’t hate your fucking body. Spirituality and religion only works if you’re a believer. Exercise only works when you’re at the plateau point and not hating every moment of the initial uphill battle. My comforts are small and sometimes my only solace is unconsciousness. So yes, a promise of safety sounds god-damn delightful. So does another Jason Bourne film.

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