The Man in the Moon
Friday, May 29th, 2009Well, the panicky delusions seem to have petered out. I’m no longer convinced that there are surveillance cameras in the apartment, or that I’m going to be arrested for some innocuous thing I wrote on this blog, or that my soul belongs to Satan.
But I have to admit, the experience shook me up, and I still don’t really know why it happened. Was it just one of the SFX of a nasty virus? A consequence of stress (largely self-imposed) and chronic insomnia, with the virus as the last straw? While I was in Australia I found out about a few things that run in my family, on both sides. Knowing what I know now, I think I’m lucky to be as hale in mind as I am.
A lot went on in my head. Went on intensely and mostly yuckily. I fell down a well. I thought about dying. Not with any real practical intent, but I found myself wishing that I didn’t have any loved ones so that I could do away with myself without upsetting anybody.
This was maybe the third time I’ve been down the well, although it was the first time the trip started with anxiety. Anyway, it was familiar enough that it was a bit like Groundhog Day. I recognised the bottom of the well, which actually isn’t a terribly bad place. It’s just a terminus. There’s a loss of personality. “Kirsten” fizzles out. The name is a luggage tag without a suitcase. Awareness remains, some habits stick around, but whatever is operating the organism feels like it’s accessing a backup copy of the personality over a lousy connection. Then “I” get very dopey, as if my skull were full of mud.
Then “I” fizzle back in. Same-same but different, as they say in Thailand. The differences might not be visible from the outside, but I can feel them. Some things carry on just as before, but other patterns of behaviour no longer feel natural, and I either have to act them out for continuity’s sake or drop them. It’s like a Windows upgrade. Some bugs will be fixed, but there’ll be new ones, and at least one silly new toolbar that only gets on the way.
I rarely dream that I’m someone else, but lately I’ve had a few dreams where I’m Dr Who and I’m fighting the Master. I figure it must be my brain trying to process the sense of being a contingent, flickering personality. I can’t work out what the Master represents. My dreaming brain likes to pun, so maybe he’s the “master” tape, something solid and permanent, which for some reason I feel threatened by.
Anyway, yes, sane. Coming off the boat, luggage in hand. Someone’s luggage, at any rate. Standing on dry land, my legs can still feel the motion of the water.
Presumably this sort of thing happens to other people too. So go on, tell me if this all sounds familiar. I like to know that my friends are all as sane as me!
