My OCD has always tried to convince me that the human race is eating itself. I’ve invariably gone to bed expecting the world to be in flames when I wake up.
“You must be struggling at the moment?” I imagine Uncle Jack asking, while he mops the factory floor around my feet.
“Not really.” My shoulders hunch and I pull a face.
With all that’s been happening over the last few months, my OCD and depression still haven’t convinced me that this IS the end of the world, just that it might be, which is no different to what they’ve been doing for years. With all the hatred in the world right now, the coronavirus, riots, terrorist attacks, I thought I’d be in pieces, but actually, I feel quite liberated. I’ve always feared dying and missing out, selfish I know, but the way it’s all going, and if I did listen to Crow, we’ll all be clocking off around the same time anyway.
“Picture a blinding white light or the world will implode,” says Crow.
“I can’t stop this,” I reply. “Prefer to hang on for as long as possible, because I don’t want to miss the show. Why kill myself when there’s enough stuff out there that wants to do it for me?”
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want the world to end. I’ve got nieces and nephews and I really don’t want Liverpool to be the last ever Premier League champions. But let’s face it, viruses mutate, hatred hasn’t gone away since cavemen began battering each other’s skulls with stones and tree branches, and people on opposite sides of the fence will always struggle to agree to disagree – violence (physical or psychological) looming over heated debate like Nosferatu’s shadow creeping up the stairs. Throw in religion, politics, the left fist versus the right, and we’re all screwed anyway.
Gladys and Brian next door seem a nice couple but they’re not the ones who’ll be filling their pockets with spoils from a home invasion. Although, when the sh*t hits the fan, and the only food in town is a tin of spam under your mattress, Brian may pay an impromptu visit after all.
“You taking up baseball, Bria—-” THWACK!
There are clouds in the sky, regardless of COVID-19. I feel sad for what has happened, what IS happening, but can’t seem to find the tears these days. The show has been emotional to say the least, but there comes a time when you have to turn off the TV and go to bed. I imagine walking around the tooth factory as all my woes and worries spill off the conveyor belt. Uncle Jack reaches for the broom but I tell him to leave everything where it is.
“Haven’t you learned anything?” I ask him. “The more intrusive thoughts I have, the more chance I’ll be able to ignore them!”
I try to explain, tell him to imagine an 80’s action film where the assailants come at our hero one at a time. The protagonist fights them as they appear in front of his fists. Now imagine an infinite line of attackers. One goes down, another takes its place, forever and ever amen. So what should Chuck Norris do? If Chuck keeps fighting them one at a time, he’ll be here for a hundred years. Chuck finally turns his back, and realises that the kung fu extras aren’t real ninjas after all, they can’t hurt him, and maybe he’ll get used to the aggressors cartwheeling over his head.
“It’s just gnashing teeth,” I say.
Uncle Jack stares at me blankly, shakes his head and bursts out laughing. “You’re a strange one,” he says, but leaves the broom in the corner of the room, kicking an intrusive thought like a football, sending it crashing into a pile of OCD false memories.
Other than a coronavirus-related disappointment that led to a small meltdown last week, and the usual thoughts of hanging myself, these last months have merged with all the others. And due to my repetitive thinking, I’m used to staring at walls.