On fear

I live a life of constant intrusion. I lead an existence based on a facet of social facades. My existence here is fragile. I cannot help but feel, again and again, as if I am wasting my time in this town. This is not what I came here for, to lay curled up between sheets in a apartment where the air hurts to inhale and my chest cramps with the notion of isolation. Still. Despite.

Despite taxi cards and PA's, despite good courses at University and despite a growing crip revolution under my hands.

Fall is approaching, fall is here now and I remember just how it was. How I felt that I imposed myself. How it was being stuck in a deep dark hole that opened up under my feet, how I plunged in, head first. And I remember that very clearly now, the hogtying ropes of confinement chafing against my skin, and it makes my chest cramp. With fear.

 

Recently the organization that has been a strong and reliable force of further existence in this town, my PAs, have crumbled and dissolved. In a matter of just physical existence I am indeed fine, someone still buys my groceries and washes my dirty laundry, but they are new and unknown girls.
It's a very odd and hurtful paradox, the one that says that on the surface I meet people all of the time, we talk and all, but I don't know them. We talk of nothing I really would want to talk about. While I see them, I am still alone, 'cause it's not them I want to see.

 

In the midst of this I get truly terrifying reports from media and friends, of people who's physical conditions are worse than mine, who's PA hours have been declined totally or cut drastically. On September 20^th I meet my welfare contact, to speak about my PA services since my contract runs out on the last of September. I hope I have nothing to worry about but it's so much added stress and I am terrified.
There are so many feelings of anxiety in this, so much which hinders me and puts my mind in other places than I want it to be.

It's hard to explain, the lack of autonomy and spontaneity in my life. The feeling of constant intrusion and lack of privacy, my own struggle with being nice and happy and good boss for the PAs who come to work for me now. The feeling of constant assessment by an authoritarian external force.
Who wants to know how long I use the bathroom when I do, if I eat healthy and practice a safe sexual lifestyle…all highly relevant questions, they assume, to determine whether a person in need really needs help.

 

And the hardest part of this being that I can't get out if. I can't tell them to fuck off and go do my thing anyway. My entire existence is built on their assessment of my need of help, and their good will, granting me hours of that help.
Usually when I have these feelings of confinement and worry they are paired with a strong will of fighting back, or carrying on anyhow, proving that success is the greatest form of revenge.
It is true I am driven by passion, obsession and a stubborn drive for self assertion and representation but fear is a marvelous sniper, shootings its bullets in the core of all of that. Shattering my dreams of lime light, good writing, revolution and inspiring studies, making me a shivering victim of coincidences…

I don't speak openly about all this as much as I perhaps should. It's private and personal and hard to phrase right. And I do believe that I refrain from it in order to not get bitter. I don't want it having the upper hand in my life. But today it's been true, the pit has been dark, deep and narrow, and its walls have scraped the back of my shoulders as I have turned in it.