Morbid Fascination

When I was younger I recalled having a set of murder case book magazines I used to collect with glee each week chronicling the life and gruesome murders of famous serial killers. There is no glory in their acts and really nor should the retelling of their acts be best sellers but they are. If I were related to one of the victims would I read with such relish? I doubt it very much but the truth is most disconnected people find the macabre engrossing.

I've started reading a short novel called "The Blind Owl" by Sadegh Hedayat. This is one of a number of books I bought years ago from Rebel Inc and never got around to reading- though I read a few. Some of these books have made their way from the loft down to the book case at various times and although I have 4 or 5 new books to read at the moment this one caught my eye.

There is a preamble in each book discuss its merits from various would be authors in various states and various places. In this one the discussion takes place in a Dublin pub between Scottish author of 'Morvern Callar' Alan Warner and someone named 'The Large'. Quite tedious actually but one paragraph stuck with me.

WARNER: "Have you heard of Francesco Borromini, he was a baroque sculptor, a rival of Bernini's?...This guy was something else. A not-quite-good-enough artist...he'd never created a work of art so he decided to commit suicide. The old Roman way, fall on the sword...but same we he botched up everything else in his life, he even fucked up the sword business: fell on it incorrectly and died after hours of agony. Thing was, he crawled over to his desk, as he bled to death, he wrote this incredible, blow by blow account of the thoughts and processes going through his mind. Complete work of art! Incredible!"

I had to have this account. Yes I had to read it. Seduced by this tale I had to read the dying words of this man that were regarded a work of art. Inadvertently this failure of the arts had created art accidentally by way of ending his own life. That had to be worth a read. If this fellow had decided rather than lying down to death to instead write for us then it would be ignorant not to read it.

So off I went with Google as my guide to take to the place I so desperately seeked only to find disappointment. The tale was not actually as recounted by the author. It was a different tale entirely and I was disappointed. How selfish of me.

Francesco Borromini was in fact a well respected architect in 17th century Roma. So much so that he was at one time sponsored by Pope Innocent X. But later his style became frowned upon and later in life he find all his commissions dry up. This led to a despair and worthlessness that manifested itself in melancholy- a general term used at the time and for centuries after to describe a mental illness. This was a severe case leading to him being unable to leave the house and suffering fits. It was in this state that Francesco Borromini one night committed suicide. He did, as Warner said, take time to die but in this time he did not write a great work of art but instead received his last rights and wrote out his will.

The promise of a tale of morbid fascination turns out to be just another sad anxious story. Not sure which one applies to this blog but have an inkling.

Flowers and torment

The maelstrom of images swirl too quickly leaving me disorientated for a moment as the humming top in my head spins to a blur threatening to launch at any time and take the top off my head with it. The scene is unreal and it by the artificial fluorescence powering all big supermarkets amid a cacophony of near silence- except for the humming in my head, the whizzing. It is a poor display in front of me. Where there should be a beautiful rainbow of varying colours and shapes I see emptiness. Where there should be various aromas which should melt together into an alluring fragrance and take me back to summer gardens I find myself robbed of scent. Flowers. More to the point flowers for my wife. Mother's day is nearly gone as its ten at night but here I am in the supermarket buying flowers on behalf of my children having not been out for 2 days and hating every minute of it.

I stare but don't absorb. I can't stop staring and that is the problem. Where I need to focus I have to much focus and cannot flick out of it. My eyes scan between the empty spaces at the pathetic offerings but still my mind is spinning so quickly any observations just bounce off. On instinct I grab two small bunches. They are poor specimens. I am no expert in flora or fauna but these look unconscious and maybe even in a coma but really it is all they have and in this situation I must make do.

Behind me is the path of least resistance- home- but ahead is where I must go to the checkouts. No point in wasting more time. I take the heavy steps to the checkout and pay for the items. As usual I try to throttle myself for something to do as the agitation needs some physical outlet. There was a time I just looked blankly lost in my own thoughts but now the anxiety manifests itself physically like this and takes over my hand to rip the Adam's apple from my neck. I try to remain calm despite the attack so no-one comes to my rescue. They are all as I once was moving slowly lost in their own worlds elsewhere. Mindless creates happy in their own heads, lucky bastards. They don't look at me and even if they did they would see an illusion. They may see the one handed assault but think nothing of it. They wouldn't see what the other hand was doing. This hand is straining to hold the taut thick elastic. This elastic stretches over my shoulder and all the way home to where it is bolted down to the sofa in my living room.

Each time I go out I must throw the thick elastic over my shoulder and push all the way out there in the world. The further I go the more the strain. I cannot stop and relax for fear of being catapulted at high speed back to my living room. So I take the strain and I pull the elastic hard in order to get further away. And when I return it is not much easier. If I relaxed I would be dragged face first through the concrete at high speed home. Instead I must still take the strain and edge myself home as slowly as I can. This is always the way but its not always the same experience. Some days it feels shorter and tighter. There have been days when it has loosened and I take hope that finally it is getting ready to snap but it never does. Always though I must strain and always these little trips leave me exhausted afterwards as a result. That is the resisting the strain and the constant tension.

Let me also say what took me there at the end of mother's day. One day I walked past "the pound shop" and paused for a moment wondering whether to get an anniversary card. To be able to have that decision is a big improvement in my walking problems, or agoraphobia, as there was a time that this was out of the question and no-one got cards. That day I decided not to go in as I would get it later- nothing was stopping me. This was 2 weeks before my anniversary. On the day of my anniversary I lay on the sofa in pain around my abdomen riddled by guilt at not even being able to get my wife a card for our day.

At the start of last week I paused in the same way outside the same shop- mother's day this time. I had learned my lesson so went in and bought not only my wife a card but my own mother too. Success for me. Just a little success but each one counts. And it was just as well. No physical problems, I said, for many years. I sat down in the kitchen on Friday night and when I tried to get up I couldn't straighten. I had pain in the small of my back. As the night went on it got worse. Saturday I could hardly move. So frustrating though. Another occasion and once again I am unable to move freely- was it always going to be this way from now on?

But at least this time I had the cards. So on Mother's day the girls had something to give their mum. They wrote the card out from the words I transcribed and then filled the card with kisses. My wife was happy but I could see something was missing. A little present. I hadn't gotten anything except a card. Partly this was because I didn't think I needed to, that I couldn't get out and also that I would not even know what to buy for my wife. I could see the disappointment though.

On Sunday evening I felt my back ease a little. In truth when I managed to straighten up it was alot better and later I found walking was actually not the problem I expected it to be. So on a whim on my late night jaunt I decided to go into ASDA and when in there had the notion to purchase flowers. I did so successfully. Again something else I can chalk up- a little thing but another thing regardless.

I am so glad I did. I sneaked back into the house and my wife was in the kitchen on the phone. Quietly I sneaked into the girls room to find them both awake. A minute later I stood there as my wife turned around to find her two girls there ready to present her with a bunch of flowers each for Mother's day. It might have been late but regardless it was worth it. It did make her day and I think we all got a lift.

Additionally though it taught me something else about myself. After a lay off from going out I have always found the first trip the hardest usually scuttling home almost a soon as I am out of the door. That night I was out for as long as I have been over the past year so that need not always be the case. It teaches me that my apprehension is probably at play. Better to do things on impulse. So if it has done nothing else it has helped me at least realise something that works better for me and long may it continue.

Kerrera

Many moons ago my wife, then fiance, and I found ourselves on an island. Not washed up there following a shipwreck during a storm on the high seas but intentionally found ourselves there. Well both our intentions but not long after we were on it my wife was soon wanting off, changed days indeed. This was no island paradise under the clear blue sky with lapping crystal waves soothing the course sand beneath the feet but a barren ruddy excuse of a place more like a big mossy rock set among the bleak grey of a Scottish cold windy Autumn. Its name was, and still is, Kerrera situated a little distance off Oban in the North West of Scotland. How we came to be in Oban is another story for another day but suffice it to say we found ourselves stuck there for 4 days and had to make our own entertainment. Such entertainment we were promised was to be found on this isle of Kerrera. We had not expected to be stranded there and as such were not prepared for the ill weather and lack of a escape plan. My wife wrapped up as best as she could while I had no hat, scarf or any relevant clothing. Instead with trainers and a light jacket I shivered away like the stupid accidental tourist I was forced to play.

We'd stood for over an hour by the water waiting for the ferry which turned out to be an aquatic cattle truck completely exposed to the windy and rainy elements of the dark morning. Once plopped on the island we were then left to our own devices. Incidentally to get back there was a public phone we had to use to call the ferry once more. In all we spent two hours walking around the island looking at nothing as that was all there was. Cold and tired the only thing which kept us going was the promise of a castle much lauded by the Tourist Information folks- in fact the only reason for going.

I found it all rather creepy. Largely it was uninhabited. We were told there were people living on it and did see some abodes but never so a single person. What we did see though when we turned a corner were the hundred beady eyes of sheep. They all just stopped and looked. Whenever I've seen sheep in the past they have been behind a fence so I haven't given them a second thought. These though were wild, en masse and looked a bit sinister. We walked slowly among them waiting for the for the charge that never came. We were on an small island so I couldn't help think if they charged we'd be running around it all day.

Our ultimate destination we finally reached- the castle. We'd built a picture of a lovely big stone palace with modern heating and displays to look through in the warmth. Then we'd sit down in a tea room for something to eat and a hot drink. What we found instead was a ruin peaking out from behind a mass of scaffolding and tarpaulin flapping wildly in the breeze. Still through the disappointment I had to investigate to find there was no one home and no way in. No wonder only we had been stupid enough to come. A monumental building site not even open to the public on this forsaken island was the prize for our troubles.

I remember thinking how I just wanted to get off this damned island. My wife was cold, miserable and in pain from walking. We just wanted to go home but there we were stuck in the cold and exposed to the elements with a trek to get back and then another long wait to get picked back up. Just a horrible experience. When we did eventually get back to to phone box we were soaked and exhausted while still being beaten by a strong unrelenting wind. It took 30 minutes of huddling in that red box before the ferryman came. We were so happy to see him come- for one we didn't think Charon did return journeys.

I read once that people who have an anxiety problem find that when they overcome them they are stronger for it. The experience of being without and everything you desire being just out of reach makes you appreciate it all the more when you finally touch it. I can relate to that. When we sat in the warmth of a cafe supping on hot carrot and coriander soup while soaking our thickly buttered crusty load it was bliss. Normally it would have been nothing to write home about but after our experience that day it was divine. It could not have tasted better and we savoured every moment.

The bad times certainly make the good times all the better and only by going through the trials can we truly appreciate life.

---

Train Crash

I started my fifth year of high school alone while my friends threw themselves into the big bad world of shitty labour for pennies but my academic interest was lost very quickly. It was all down to the subjects I had chosen. There was no thought put into it and instead I picked them on a whim. It was "put the tail on the donkey". Can't believe I was so bad looking back. Why the hell did I choose Social Studies over History, maybe Mr Bruce of the unique tie notoriety who hated me with a passion- to be fair he wasn't the only one so I was obviously doing something wrong. Economics, why?, for example bored me to tears and I knew I had to get out of the whole thing. So by chance speaking to a counsellor there was a YTS course as a trainee accountant that came along. I jumped at the chance.

It was soul destroying to be honest. For the first 4 months I had to travel in and out of Glasgow. I got the bus at 6:45 each morning and got back at 18:30. All for £28.50 a week. In truth I made nearly as much on expenses. In all I got just over £30 in travelling expenses by claiming to get 2 single train tickets each day at £3 each- they never asked for evidence. Instead I bought a weekly bus pass every Monday morning for £8.

I then got placed in Edinburgh. Within 3 months I was doing full sets of accounts and my time was being charged out at £10 an hour, while the accounts firm paid nothing, as the qualified ones sat back on their laurels getting me to run errands across town and make the tea and that sort of thing. Hey I don't mind starting at the bottom but for pennies? I didn't even question it though because I thought that is what you did and then found old school friends in the put telling me how they were on £250 a week working on an assembly line. But back to the accountants. I would have to sit each Friday afternoon and forcibly fill out a sheet charging my time for every moment I was there in 15 minute boxes so they could earn the maximum possible from me. Even if I was doing nothing I was told to say I was arranging files and pick a client at random to charge to. I became completely disillusioned with the whole thing so decided it was time to move on. My life was all work and I was getting nothing in return. I was even shoved into the face of rabid clients by these low lifes to justify my costs which looking back is unbelievable and was at the time so hard because I was on the client's side.

In this period I applied for a number of jobs so varied you would not believe. I still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and to be honest I wasn't putting the effort into thinking about it- see earlier school reference. Instead as always I just chased things on a whim because they sounded better at that  moment in time.

One such job was with the MOD. Again a trainee but much better pay. The job itself was an electronic engineer and required being based in England for 4 years. It sounded good to me as I wanted to get away. At the time I also had applied for the RAF, Navy and Royal Marines- those are other stories for another day. Though have to say the Marines was a laugh. Couldn't do the pull ups and was told to try the territorials first. The Navy was doomed from the start: What's your name? Full Name? Well I don't want your f***ing nickname you little p***k. Oh dear.

A letter arrived asking me to come for an exam which would take place in Glasgow so I went. After getting the bus into Glasgow I had to then go the the station to get the train out to Springburn college. My arrival in Glasgow was too early so I had to kill a few hours in shops browsing and then at the last moment realised I was running late so had to dash for the train. I caught it and no more just as it was getting set to depart but as such I had to get in the last carriage. It was not that busy inside but I took the furthest most seat at the back.

The train went on its way. I sat staring out the window with my back to everyone else in the carriage lost in my own thoughts. Probably I was thinking about the examination not knowing what it would entail. Then I was suddenly pulled out of my daydreaming by the high pitched screech of metal on metal as the train began to shudder. It was breaking but then the most almighty thump jolted the carriage and my head was thrown backward. That was a shock and it was like everything moved in slow motion. I saw a seat fly by by. Then silence. I looked around to see a woman with a big cut down her face bleeding from the nose crying and a man with a large exposed cut on his leg where the trousers had been ripped away. I heard voices but they were incoherent. For some stupid reason I thought we had been hijacked like the old westerns and someone was going to come on hidden my a handkerchief demanding all watches and jewellery be placed in a bag like modern day highway men. I was though unharmed but the following day I could not move my neck for the whiplash.

All the was in front of me was a door. It opened and out stumbled a second driver clutching his ribs and moaning. He started to make his way to the front realising no one was interested in his moans. Then we all sort of assembled and mulled about the carriage not speaking. One guy tried to open the doors but they wouldn't open. I remember some faces at the door a little time later and then they opened to allow us to spill out. I jumped on to the muddy footing below and walked over to something a few people were sitting on- cannot remember what. I sat there too. And it was only then when I looked at the length of the train I saw the severity of the situation. There was another train and at the front of both where they had met head on the front carriage of one train was on top of the other.

Strangely now I cannot remember if it was the front carriage of my train that was under or over the other. I cannot remember if the two people killed in the Bellgrove crash were on my train. In fact alot of it is misty now. What I do remember is being taken to a nearby community centre for questioning by police walking up a steep hill to get there in a line while being plagued by reporters wanting a story. And then after being taken in a police van to the bus station in Glasgow and dumped there. It took over an hour to get home and it was surreal thinking on what had happened while everyone else got on with their normal lives. I remember a flurry of mail arriving for me from various lawyers I never contacted asking to represent my claim against the railway provider- I never did claim. I remember the police arriving at my house one day to take another statement getting my to show them where I was sitting on a plan of the train and then taking away my only evidence for their own- my ticket which I had kept as a memento.

It was all very bizarre at the time. No one seemed to bother that I was in a train crash and people had died. Probably because apart from a stiff neck I was fine. But I sometimes wonder as I did then that had I not been running late and had instead arrived early for the train would I have sat at the front and felt the full force of the collision. I didn't but I do wonder sometimes.

Walking on impulse

I started a walking diary with the intention of getting to my goal- my daughter's nursery. 9 months on I've still not got there yet. It is still my intention. My stomach problems that had me on the sofa for over a week derailed my plans a good deal but I have started over and I'm not back at square one again as I thought I would be. Tonight for example I went to the Supermarket and bought myself a magazine. Something I couldn't do last year.
But today I have had a long think about these walks and decided I need to change things. I will still be doing the walks and recording them but not trying to reach targets. The reason for removing the goals is I have come to learn they are counterproductive. But I still want to keep a record which I will do to ensure I am still making progress or at least maintaining them. But that really has not place on a blog and would be of no interest to anyone anyway.

The reason for removing the goals came to me tonight in buying a magazine. I set out tonight with the intention of walking half the distance that I actually managed because I have been so inactive of late. Physically I find it hard enough. But I am so happy I managed more. What I realised though was that if I set out to get a magazine I probably would not have managed it. This is a process which I recognise from experience.

The first few times I managed to go to the shops it was done on impulse. I was out for a walk, passed the shops and suddenly felt the urge to go in. Some time later my wife asked me to get her something from the shops and I agreed but didn't feel comfortable with it. When I got halfway around I got into a panic and had to turn back. The reason for this was apprehension. When I have been set a goal I always have apprehension and this builds as I near my target.

My walks have been based on goals and I think now on hindsight they have been counter productive. It also works another way. If I reach a goal I race to it and when I reach it I race home again. What would be better would be to go out the door with no intention other than to walk for as long as I am comfortable and return when I feel the need. In this way I won't have the apprehension to keep me back. This in itself is a type of exposure in which I am just making the situation a little more comfortable but I fully believe this is the way forward for me. I will record my walks and some time down the line compare them to my previous walks to see if there is any difference but more importantly if I have made any progress.

Ultimately where I go is not of relevance because my anxiety is not brought on by places. It is brought on by apprehension and the fear of being too far away. The longer I am out the better it will be for me and when I start to feel comfortable being out for longer spells then I can start to do preplanned things and the apprehension should not be as bad.

That is the theory any way. Walk with no destination and act on impulse. Some of my best achievements, maybe all, have been done on impulse with little anxiety.

Heaven

Today my oldest daughter sat on her mum's lap. And she said "Mummy. See when its time for you to go to heaven will you wait for me?". My wife smiled and said "Of course I will honey". My daughter smiled and cuddled into her mum.