Hidey-Holes For Hermits

 

I need a new hidey-hole. Why? Because I want one.

Here’s a list of the hidey-holes I already have —

 

under my bed – a normal place to hide

under the bed in the spare room – another normal place to hide

in the cupboard under the stairs – normal

in my kitchen cupboards – also normal except I can’t hide there any more because that’s where my collections of Heinz Salad Cream squeezy bottles, Colman’s Horseradish Sauce jars, Carnation Caramel tins, and Suma Tomato Puree tubes live. Oh, and my Atora Suet boxes live there too.

in my airing cupboard– I’ve already told you about my airing cupboard.

in my tumble dryer – I’ve already told you about my tumble dryer (a few times).

in my washing machine – I haven’t told you about my washing machine because the general consensus is that people who hide in their washing machines are EVEN MORE MENTAL than people who don’t hide in their washing machines but might still hide in their tumble dryers. I don’t really see the difference, they’re both used for laundry.

in my wardrobe – a small part of my collection of self-help books lives there. The other parts of my self-help book collection live in the stacks on the stairs. My clothes are in – hang on, where ARE my clothes? I know where some of them are, who moved the rest of them?

on top of my wardrobe – I can’t hide there any more because in order to do my flying I had to demolish the structure I’d built to enclose the space between the top of my wardrobe and the ceiling, and I need to keep it demolished or I won’t have anywhere to take off from.

in my air raid shelter that I built under my kitchen – what’s down there? I can’t remember. I think I put some collections down there but fuck knows which ones. I’ll have a look later when I can be arsed.

in the new wheelie bin I conned the council into giving me – I told them someone had nicked my second wheelie bin so they’d bring me a brand new one when really I’ve never had two wheelie bins, I’ve only ever had ONE. And no, I haven’t made a going-outside breakthrough, my brand new wheelie bin is in my kitchen next to my cooker where it’s nice and warm.

in my loft – I don’t like going up there for three reasons – SPIDERS and MOTHS and THE TRAMP WHO MIGHT BE SECRETLY LIVING UP THERE and sneaking in and out when I’m not looking, and stealing my CLOTHES (YES! that’s where they are!!!!!!!) and stealing my Cumberland sausages when I’ve cooked a big batch and put some in the fridge but when I go to eat them the next day they’re NOT THERE because the FUCKING THIEVING RONKER IN MY LOFT HAS STOLEN THEM AND SCOFFED THE LOT and he’s stolen my Asda Toffee Cheesecakes too because I had FOUR in the fridge yesterday and now I don’t have ANY because he must have crept down in the night and ATE THEM and put the empty tubs OUTSIDE IN THE BIN because he knows I don’t go outside so I won’t see the evidence. My Asda Toffee Cheesecakes that I was saving for after my tea tonight. BASTARD. When I catch him I’ll Asda HIS fucking price.

 

Where’s my AXE?

 

 

If I Didn’t Have People Phobia I Could Have Run Outside And Kicked His Head In

 

I had a big whiney day yesterday – feeling sorry for myself because everything was so LOUD I couldn’t concentrate enough to do a post. I gave my fridge a good kick in the side because it sounded like the River Aire, the River Wharfe, and the River Calder having a FIGHT, and also because I couldn’t kick the FUCKER across the road who was cutting his grass with a STRIMMER. And the reason I couldn’t kick the fucker across the road who was cutting his grass with a STRIMMER is because I’M TOO MENTAL TO GO OUTSIDE. If I could have gone outside I’d have run across the road with a big bottle of water, run into his house, unplugged the strimmer, run outside, kicked him in the bollocks, then POURED MY BIG BOTTLE OF WATER OVER HIS FUCKING NASTY BUZZY STRIMMER. So I had to have my windows and doors closed ON A HOT SUNNY DAY and that’s not good for all the obvious reasons but it’s also not good because when you have HERMITITIS the only way you’re able to have a bit of the HOT SUNNY DAY is to fling open all your doors and windows to let the HOT SUNNY DAY come inside.

 

 

Is it any wonder I have PEOPLE PHOBIA when EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD IS A JUDGEMENTAL ARSEWIPE? I tend to write about the HERMITITIS more than the PEOPLE PHOBIA – why? I don’t know, probably because I’ve successfully got rid off most of the people I used to know so I don’t have enough people left in my life to write about.

PEOPLE, PEOPLE, PEOPLE.

Say it out loud.

What does it sound like?

It sounds like PEEPHOLE.

PEOPLE – PEEPHOLE, PEOPLE – PEEPHOLE.

And why does PEOPLE sound like PEEPHOLE?

Because that’s exactly what people try to do to each other, they use love and friendship and trust to drill PEEPHOLES into each other’s lives to SPY on what you’ve done, what you’re doing, what you INTEND to do, what you’re saying, who you’re saying it about, who you’re saying it TO, who you’ve shagged, who you’re shagging, who you’ll shag next – they want to know EVERYTHING, all your secrets, all the gory details.

I SPY WITH MY FERRETY EYES.  

And why do they do want to know all this? They want to know it all so they can sit as JUDGE, JURY AND EXECUTIONER and find you to be LESS THAN THEY ARE, so they can prove to themselves and the people they GOSSIP TO that they are  RICHER, MORE INTELLIGENT, NICER LOOKING, FINER HUMAN BEINGS than you, so they can keep fooling themselves that they are better than you, so they can keep justifying to themselves the fact that deep down they are all, every single one of them, PRETENDING THEIR WAY THROUGH LIFE.

JUDGEMENTAL – there’s a clue in the word.

And if you SEE THROUGH all this and recognise human beings for what they REALLY ARE, and what they WANT and the lengths they’ll go to to get it, and if your mind can’t cope with all the SHITE of human interaction because you can see THE TRUTH OF WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT AND WHAT MOTIVATIONS LIE BEHIND THE INTERACTIONS, and if you’re unable to play the game any more because you know it’s all a BIG DISHONEST PILE OF SHITE you’re labelled as being PEOPLE PHOBIC and MENTAL.

In a comment he made the other day on the Dotty Talking Therapy post, MEL said it’s about HONESTY. And I’ve thought and thought and thought about what he wrote while I couldn’t do anything else because of the NOISE, and the more I think about it the more I know he’s 100% right both within the context he said it and also in the context of this post. I’m not clever enough to go into all the theories behind what causes PEOPLE PHOBIA – is it a physical blip in the brain? Is it the bastard child of CHRONIC DEPRESSION? Is it one or more of all the theories proposed by EXPERT BOFFINS? Or is it merely a RECOGNITION of a disheartening, clarifying existential truth?

EXISTENTIAL TRUTH????????  – fucking hell it’s only quarter to eleven, I’m going to make my breakfast before my brain erupts. Cumberland sausage sandwiches. AND I’M GOING TO CHOP A TOMATO TO PUT ON THE TOP.

 

 

Questions, Questions, Questions – How To Successfully Torture A People Phobic She-Hermit

 

I don’t like questions, do you? Why do people ask them? Haven’t they anything better to do?

Most of the questions I’m asked are STUPID questions asked by STUPID people with STUPID motives. They make about as much sense as the ? post I did yesterday. And these STUPID people who ask their STUPID questions aren’t even interested in the answers I finally manage to give them, they’re only interested in answers that tell them WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR. They pick and choose certain key words and manipulate them into answers I DID NOT MEAN. And I’m too STUPID and too PEOPLE PHOBIC to correct them.

How?

What?

Why?

Where?

When?

 

 

Having PEOPLE PHOBIA is SHITE at the best of times but when you’re sitting in front of a pair of STUPID LASER EYES THAT CAN SEE RIGHT INSIDE YOUR STUPID HEAD, and the STUPID LASER EYES are attached to a STUPID BRAIN THAT IS JUDGING YOU AND FINDING YOU TO BE THE WORST HUMAN BEING IN THE HISTORY OF HUMAN BEINGS, coherence and clarity are impossible. THINKING is impossible. A STUPID question is asked and when you try to answer the STUPID question what comes out of your mouth (if anything) is a rambling babble of words that either has no relation to what you really want to say or over-says what you really want to say – and the crucial point is LOST IN ALL THE SHITE YOU’RE SPOUTING. But the STUPID people asking the questions are too STUPID to consider the fact that PEOPLE PHOBIA makes you hide things and gloss over things and fail to mention relevant things that you WANT THEM TO KNOW but CAN’T TELL THEM because they are PEOPLE and the fact that you have SEVERE PEOPLE PHOBIA means you’re SO TERRIFIED OF PEOPLE you can’t talk to them in any way that makes sense.

And you’re such hard work they get annoyed even though they’d never ADMIT they’re annoyed. And who’s fault is it they get annoyed? IT’S YOUR FAULT. Naturally. And because it’s YOUR FAULT you babble even more in order to mollify them, you try to justify yourself to them, you try to tell them WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR. You try to STOP THEM BEING ANNOYED because you BELIEVE IT’S YOUR FAULT they’re annoyed in the first place. But there’s still a tiny part of you that KNOWS it isn’t your fault, a small part of you that wants to scream IT’S PEOPLE LIKE YOU WHO MADE ME LIKE THIS, YOU CONDESCENDING PATRONISING BASTARD. SHUT YOUR YAPPING FACE AND LISTEN TO WHAT I’M TRYING TO TELL YOU.

Add to this the fact that you have to keep asking and asking them to repeat themselves because you can’t hear what they’re saying BECAUSE THEY WON’T SWITCH THEIR COMPUTER OFF even when you’ve explained the difficulties of Hyperacusis – and they’re too STUPID or too IGNORANT to remember to raise their voice when they speak so you ask and ask and ask. And all through this FUCKING TORTURE you’re desperate to get home, or to die, or to vanish in a puff of smoke, anything to get away from the STUPID LASER EYES and the STUPID questions and the PRYING and the JUDGING and the SNEERING and the LAUGHING that are all going on behind the STUPID LASER EYES. You want to be at home with the doors shut and locked, the curtains closed, the phone off the hook, nobody there but you because the HERMITITIS has shackled your brain to the walls of the house you’ve had to leave, so although you’re physically present in the place you’ve had to go to, mentally you’re desperately trying to crawl home again. 

By the time you do finally get home your head is on the verge of imploding; you’re so tired all you want to do is sleep but the second you put your head on the pillow you’re MORTIFIED WITH SHAME at the STUPID things you said and the IMPORTANT things you didn’t say. The shame doesn’t lessen with each replay, it grows and grows and grows and THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO CHANGE IT.

 

And all you’re able to think then is –

?

 

Dotty Is Dreading Tomorrow And I Might Not Be Here For A Few Days

 

I have to go out tomorrow, for a first hospital appointment with an ENT consultant. I’ve been dreading it but trying to ignore the dread by concentrating on other things like giving Kumblant an opportunity to tell his story (I’ll do a post about how I got to know him soon), and hoping the hospital will do something to take away these never-ending noises in my head, (a child’s high-pitched, eternal scream, a distant choir, and a little chirruping bird I’ve named Spuggy) and do something to stop the Hyperacusis that is FUCKING HORRIBLE HORRIBLE HORRIBLE, but now the day is almost here and it’s TOMORROW AFTERNOON and no amount of laudanum or beta-blockers is stopping the mentals from setting in. So I won’t be here tomorrow and I might not be here on Thursday and I might not be here on Friday because it’s been a long, long, long time since I’ve been to a place FULL OF PEOPLE AND MRSA GERMS and I know when it’s all over and done with I’ll be in post-panic mode, absolutely fucking knackered – sleep, sleep, sleep, empty head full of NOTHING BUT NOISE when I AM awake. 

I can’t plan it. I can’t do walk-throughs in my head like I do for the 24 hour Tesco. And at the 24 hour Tesco at 6 o’clock in the morning nobody SPEAKS TO ME but I’m going to have to speak to a strange doctor tomorrow and fuck knows who else. And THE WAITING AREA. I don’t know what it looks like now, it’s years since I’ve been there and they’ve remodelled it all – the last time I was in the broken bones part of the hospital they’d arranged the seats FACING EACH OTHER and I bet they’ve done that in ENT too, and it’ll be PACKED FULL because those places always are and I’ll have to sit in a chair across from SOME STARING FUCKERS and try to stop myself looking mental if I can’t control the panic. Or should I just let my mental come out and it might scare them away? And what if Lottie can’t sit next to me? And what if my voice won’t work and I can’t speak to the doctor? And what if I start CRYING – oh god, god, god.

I don’t want to go, I’d do anything NOT to go – but I NEED to go because all these noises are giving me a NEW KIND OF MENTAL on top of the mentals I already have and I don’t know how much longer I can cope with them. My fridge sounds like a waterfall in my kitchen, the central heating sounds like a motorway running through my house, if I wanted to use the vacuum cleaner I couldn’t, it’s like cleaning the carpet with a helicopter. I can’t get in the shower any more, I have to use the bath. I can’t open my windows when it’s nice because of lawn mowers and strimmers. I can only watch telly for an hour maximum. I could be the fucking machine whisperer, I can hear things machines say that no one else can hear. I HOPE they tell me tomorrow that I’m losing my hearing because to be honest I’d rather hear NOTHING than EVERYTHING AT BEYOND MAXIMUM VOLUME.

I’m going to start getting ready now because tomorrow I’ll forget the things they said I have to take with me (medication, appointment letter).

I’ll be back posting when I’m over the going out shite, but I might come on to catch up on reading your blogs.

 

 

 

 

Should I just delete this? No, fuck it, I’ll post it.

 

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