Hiding in the dark

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It feels like a little adventure, sitting in my dim-lit living room, hiding, out of reach of all but my caring WordPress friends in distant climes.

My neighbours thought I’d gone away, but now they’re not so sure. Maybe they can see a little light, but I don’t care.

I hear them outside, subdued by uncertainty and a trace of guilt.

Someone’s knocking on my door. I sense their bated breath as they listen for a clue to my presence.

There’s a second knock, and then a third.

Maybe they heard my kettle; well, let them wonder.

I don’t have to answer to those who expect me to listen to everyday tales I’ve already heard several times this week;

those who must be the centre of attention even when they have nothing to say;

those who are so blinded by ego or whatever makes them that way that they have no time to see my pain, or the fear writ clear across my face;

those who break in when I try to speak; greedily competing, citing swollen feet, headaches, self-made, half-invented, grossly exaggerated health scares to which I listen each evening.

This terrifying week, it would have been nice if someone had noticed me, instead of looking for a reflection of themself, and reached out to help.

The other night I described a terrifying image which had flashed across my vision. One of my erstwhile friends told me not to be so stupid, and without a pause, asked me how to delete a message from his phone.

All I could hear was him saying “Me me me.”

I stood up and said I had things to do, and without another word, I walked indoors.

He must have noticed I was offended, because yesterday he apologised. It was too late; it’s happened too many times over the past few days, and he would not have troubled himself if I hadn’t displayed my anger.

I hear another knock on my door.

I ignore it.

I prefer to spend the evening with you, my true friends; my loyal, supportive, WordPress friends.

©Jane Paterson Basil

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35 thoughts on “Hiding in the dark

    1. I now know who keeps knocking on my door: the woman who says I’m on drugs. She’s known for ages that I’m not well, but she doesn’t care. It’s all just a game to her.
      The support staff know I’m OK, and that’s all that matters. Let the rest of them stew. I can’t see or talk to them. It’s not possible.
      I’m sure they really miss me, but they have no idea who I am, because they’ve never let me talk.

      Liked by 1 person

        1. Sandra, the supervisor, wanted to know why I couldn’t use the main entrance, so I mumbled something vague. She asked me if I was trying to avoid people, and eventually I said I didn’t want to see Yasmin, among others. If I confront her she’ll lie to me, and I can’t cope with lies. They cause me physical pain. Sandra’s furious, and insists she’ll talk to her. She’s forever having to pull Yasmin up about things like this.
          Sandra had a son who had drug issues. She had two breakdowns, and often used to faint in the street…

          Liked by 1 person

  1. I have thought of so many things to say, yet nothing seemed appropriate enough. You can’t be sensitive to other’s pain without feeling your own more keenly. Sometimes talking helps if there is a patient ear. If not, don’t retreat in your shell. Reach out. We are all connected… And unfortunately most are in the same terrifying boat. Loadsa love and hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Don’t worry – I won’t retreat into my shell. I know who to trust. You’re all out there in the blogosphere, and I can feel the love and good wishes. I don’t need you to find the right words – though yours ARE the right words.Love to you, too xxx

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I so understand your need for space and recharging yourself. It gets so tiring when everyone is so needy and greedy that they cannot see through their own stuff to reach out and support you just when you need it most. It sucks you dry, that kind of selfish neediness. And you get to the stage where you have nothing left to give. Look after yourself Jane – consider yourself enveloped in a big *hug* – sending you lots n lots of love xxx

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Glad you found it! And happy that at least it gives a modicum of support to know that some people are in your corner 🙂 That seems to be happening to quite a few people. Hugh’s Views posted about it just this week.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I had a bad night. Yasmin was on the warpath, and she waited until I had a seizure before launching a horrible verbal attack on me. I don’t think she realised that anger would bring me round. She may have made a fatal mistake.Amongst other things, she threatened to punch my lights out, and said that perhaps I need to be put in the psychiatric wing with my daughter – all this because the supervisor confronted her about the rumours she started. She denies them, and even denies something I heard her say during one of my seizures a couple of weeks ago.
          I’m feeling very emotional today…
          I haven’t read High’s Views…

          Liked by 1 person

            1. Yasmin is the woman who put round rumours about me doing drugs. We’ve been so-called ‘friends’ for 39 years and she knows all about my troubles, and my views.
              I’m not diagnosed with epilepsy – my doctor assumes the seizures are stress-related. Have I ever mentioned that my doctor is lovely – but useless?
              Seizures are spazmdic. I may have one or two a day for a while, and then none for weeks. My body slumps, and I can’t talk, but I hear everything that’s said. My friends know not to call the paramedics, but I’m beginning to think that if they did, I may get some sort of help.

              Liked by 1 person

              1. Oh yes, you did tell me about her. I didn’t recall the name. Sounds very toxic.
                Lovely doctors are nice to have, but if that is all they are then perhaps it’s time to find someone else better equipped to help medically.
                Have you ever kept a record of when you have them – ie. what’s happening in your life at the time. You may pick up a pattern.
                Mum used to hyperventilate but it was not obvious that’s what she was doing. In all appearances it seemed like a seizure.They happened at times of high stress or tiredness for her. It took many years for a doctor to explain to us what was happening and to explain how to manage them without a trip to hospital.The paper bag over the nose trick – or hands cupped over your nose so you are rebreathing your air and rebalancing the o2/co2 levels.

                Liked by 1 person

  3. Ah, Jane. Sometimes its necessary to retreat from the world and the selfish and awful behaviour of others. We all require a carapace tough as a rhino’s horn to make it through life. All the best to you and I hope you get to sneak out, enjoy some air, avoiding that stupid cow Yasmin of course. All the best to you X

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Lynn. I have permission to use the side door (noy usually allowed unless you’re disabled) and I’m going to see my friend Elain. We’ll take a walk in the woods, go back to her place and find some excuse to laugh like lunatics 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That sounds exactly what you need. I was thinking of you and woods, thinking you could do with that old job of yours back, wandering round some lovely woodland. Hope you have a lovely time. And make sure you so laugh like a lunatic!

        Liked by 1 person

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