I'm thinking about covering everything in my room with bubble wrap. Layering sheets upon sheets upon sheets of the tiny plastic pods that loudly pop upon impact. If there is anyone in my room-an intruder, rapist, murderer, I would be aware of their presence. I would be able to hear them, like the explosion of an atom bomb…only air and plastic and in my bedroom, no fire.
Paranoia, like a worm, delves further and further into my brain with passing time. It also makes a straight jacket and comfortable asylum suite just that much more appealing.
Usually at night, I also believe that the aforementioned criminals could somehow manage to fit themselves into my dresser drawers and bathroom cabinets, so I check frequently to make sure, pulling open drawers from a few feet away holding a toothbrush to use as a weapon.
I don't sleep, I'm therefore in a heightened state of conscious sleep-walking; my mind is alert, while my body is sluggishly dragged on through wakefulness. Every night, I grasp a toothbrush firmly in hand and believe that the utensil is perfectly acceptable as a lethal weapon.
My nightly rituals, further perpetuated by a naïve "I can do anything" attitude, are fostered by circumstances that I consider to be beyond my control. I have been watching Law and Order since the age of 7 at least-this has progressed to the more gruesome and obviously superior SVU-sexually based offenses. Enough said.
My mother also took to the habit of telling me stories about friends of hers who were kidnapped or raped at parties when I was very young. Apparently she thought that kind of a thing 'protected' a child from outside harm; if they developed paranoid tendencies in the process, so be it.
I don't happen to agree w/ my mothers parenting techniques only because telling my daughter that if she walks to the 7-eleven around the corner she will be snatched and murdered doesn't seem the best way to raise a mentally stable child, but, again, that's only me. Threats like that can affect a 7-year old.
Over time her paranoia transferred to me, but in a strange and unhealthy way. I started wanting to go out on my own so that I would be kidnapped. In the mall I'd scan the food court lines for suspicious faces and make conversation with the people they belonged too; I'd smile and act innocently around them so that they would want to abduct me.
"Do you come here a lot?" I'd ask.
"Let me help you with your bags," pleading, I hoped they'd snatch me.
"Where's your mommy sweetie?" was their usual response.
They never took me and I hated them for it, so much so that I often fled the line after to give it go in another line across the court for, say, Sbarro. I wanted to be whisked away to an exciting fantasy land. All my life my mother told me stories about how awful people could be and I hadn't experienced it. So, I made the conscious decision that I should incorporate those 'despicable' people into my life.
So, here I am. It's around 5:05 A.M. and I'm considering covering my room with bubble wrap to keep intruders out whom, if really armed and dangerous would not be intimidated by my sparkly pink plastic toothbrush shoved in their face. The prospect of actually sleeping flew out of the window at around 3:00 A.M. and I'm now blaming my mother because I wasn't kidnapped. Bubble wrap still seems to be a legitimate security system and now I can almost hear the bubbles exploding.