Paranoia
You will never know how difficult life is for me, unless you are plagued with the same affliction as I am. You cannot possibly know what it is like to become paralyzed with fear at the thought of leaving your home. You cannot realize how embarrassing it is to run and hide when someone knocks at your door. This may sound comical to some people, but it is a horrifying experience for those of us who must live through it.
I am referring to xenophobia. The definition of that term states that it is an irrational fear of strangers. To me, there is nothing irrational about it. Some may describe my particular affliction as paranoid dillusional because I believe that all strangers secretly wish to harm me. Maybe even kill me.
I am aware of the possibility that many of you think I am crazy. I could very well be. But that does not change the fact that I am constantly putting myself into positions where I am afraid for my life just because I am too ashamed to admit to anyone that I am terrified of people I do not know. I have never been able to explain where this fear comes from and I still cannot. I guess that is why a phobia is described as an "irrational" fear.
Perhaps if I gave you an example of what this fear has done to me --the most recent incident to date--you might understand what I am trying to say.
I did all my grocery shopping at night. The reason for this was that there were less people out walking in the evening. Maybe if I was driving it would have been different, but I have never owned a car. I had no need for one.
This fear was so bad that I had my friend, Jane, who was a cashier at the grocery store, call me when she was working around seven or eight so that I would have someone I knew serving me. It took me ten minutes to walk to the store, then I would do my shopping and walk back. I lived in a small community, so I rarely encountered other people during this time. This time, however, was different.
In retrospect, doing my shopping at night may not have been such a great idea. It is true that I had less contact with people, but when I did make contact with people at night, I was more likely to freak out because the night tends to make everything seem more sinister.
I probably do not need to tell you that my heart skipped a beat the moment I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see a figure coming toward me from the darkness. My paranoia caused me to look over my shoulder constantly as I walked, otherwise I never would have seen him.
The reason I suspected him at first was that he seemed to be going faster than he really needed. He was gaining on me at a rate that literally terrified me. It only took five minutes for the man to be close enough for me to hear--or make me think I can hear--him breathing.
I put my hand in my pocket and held on to my pocket knife, althought I hoped I would not need it. I started to walk faster in a vain attempt to put more distance between the stranger and I, but now matter how fast I went, it seemed that he went faster.
It was at this point that I started to panic. I did not know what to do or where to go. I was so scared by this time that could no longer think clearly. My mind had become a breeding ground of confused thoughts that seemed to be multiplying by the second. New ideas that I did not understand popped up one by one. I had no idea where they were coming from and I had no idea what they meant.
Who was this man?
Where did he come from?
Why was he following me?
I got the feeling that I would never find the answers I was looking for. These questions could possibly haunt me for the rest of my life. Assuming I got out alive, I thought.
Now, as I am looking back on this episode, I notice that there was one thing that I find really strange. There is a church near my apartment with a cross that has a border of lights, so it glows in the dark. Usually, when I walked past that church--me being the religous man that I am--I would cross myself. The strange thing is that even though I was afraid for my life and running from a possible killer, I still stopped to cross myself, as if that was my way of asking God to protect me.
What I find really strange is that as I stopped, the stranger made no effort to overtake me and I still believed that he was after me. That is when the affliction ceases to be paranoia and becomes a serious mental condition. At the time, everything I did made sense to me. But now that I am getting better, I realize the error of my ways.
Eventually, the man was directly behind me. My hand had been holding my pocket knife the entire time. I clutched it so tightly that my fingers were beginning to hurt. I gripped it out of fear. I was certain that this man would attack me the first chance he got. He would wait until he was certain that my defences were completely down, then he would lunge at me like a savage creature attacking its prey, with whatever weapon he happened to be carrying. That is the reason that, no matter what happened, I could not let my guard down.
He was so close to me that I could almost feel his warm breath on my neck. He was breathing slowly and calmly. I, on the other hand, was breathing heavily from fear and exhileration. His heart was probably beating calmly and steadily while mine was beating faster than a drumroll. How could he be so calm as he was preparing to commit murder? Why was he not nervous or afraid? Why was it that I, the innocent victim, was the one was out of breath and about to have a heart attack from fear, and he, the brutal killer, was acting like he was out for an evening stroll? How could that be?
That was it! I had enough!
I waited until he was close enough for me to almost feel him touching me. Then I stopped short, forcing him to bump into me. That put him off guard and gave me the chance that I needed to get my knife out of my pocket. I lunged forward and thrust the weapon into his stomach. Blood splurted from his body and the stranger fell to ground hard enough to knock him unconscious if he had still been alive.
Then, I came to senses. From the moment I saw him walking behind, I was in a trance. And when I saw his lifeless body hit the floor, I came out of my hypnosis to realize that I had taken the life of a man who had done nothing to me. What could I do? There was only one thing I could do. I calmly walked to the police station and confessed my crime.
They put me in an asylum. Rightfully so, I suppose. Apparently, the act I committed was during a moment of temporary insanity. Or so my attorney had convinced the twelve individuals who sat on the jury.
I used to be in mximum security, but they say that I'm getting better so I have been moved to minimum security. That is why they have allowed me to have a pencil and some paper to write this down. I have been waiting almost five years to put this story onto paper. It is my own form of therapy, and it has worked better than anything these psychiatrists have tried.
I thought that the stranger behind me was a psychopath, but now I realize who the real psychopath was. That is why I know that I should not be let out of here. I killed once, and I could kill again.
I'm home now.