Defending the Maginot Line of my mind
I can almost see it creeping into my peripheral vision. When I send it away, I always convince myself I’ve killed it for good, as if my brain has suddenly built defences that can’t be breached. But there is little more than a Maginot Line in my mind. The invader can simply avoid it and go straight for the centre of my thoughts. Take the black pill and shrink, that’s what it tells me. Poison all your thoughts with doubt, it goes on.
I’m sat in the twilight listening to John Lennon slagging off his former best friend – “All you did was yesterday…” and looking at pictures of me stood smiling next to my best friend who I still love dearly. His wedding earlier this year was my favourite day ever. Being best man felt enormous and wonderful, a whirl of the mundane and the epic – cooking fried breakfasts and carrying amps for the wedding band, handing over the wedding rings and delivering a best man’s speech. “You’re a writer, that must have been a doddle for you, right?” Little do they know.
And now the old questions are looming in my head again, the chorus of comments beneath things I’ve written coming back to haunt me. And in my stomach that hollow feeling of dread sloshed on top of anger. In the bedroom there’s a SAD lamp gifted to my girlfriend – the artificial sun always rises – and I’m thinking of ways to reset myself to a positive frame of mind.
Someone told me on Twitter earlier today that you could never claim my blog was self-aggrandising. It’s nice to fulfil people’s expectations now and then.