insecure about the truth ·
1 January 10

I haven’t written a for a couple of months now, and it’s becoming more difficult to do so. At one point I think I believed that I could write out my worries; that my mind would be clear of the thought congestion inhibiting my poor, abused brain. It’s not worked out like that for some time now.

There is no desire or drive in me to write anymore. Actually that’s not strictly true. I have wanted to write, many times, but the daunting task of putting ink to paper (or in this case fingers to keyboard) felt like a difficult task to carry out. So my mind has been gridlocked with thoughts and ideas, which I haven’t been able to convey.

My thoughts have been preoccupied with paranoia. Paranoid about me dying in many gruesome ways, with things always being a danger to me. Right now on the staircase there’s lino wrapped and it leaves half the staircase space left which means it’s a narrower walkway, and a slip could cause damage to an individual. So I keep thinking I’m going to slip or trip and die a clumsy and embarrassing death. “Here lies the guy who couldn’t manage the staircase”. Similar thoughts have been prevalent these past few months.

When it started snowing, I shit myself. Not literally I’d like to add, but I did do so in the figurative sense. I hate ice. And snow tends to turn into ice eventually, or when it rains in between. When I was at college a year ago, the weather was similar: cold winds and icy roads and pavements.

Even then I couldn’t walk on the ice. In contrast, all my friends can and do skate on the ice. They do it and cheer while doing it. While they’re doing this, I’m slipping and sliding, trying to find the driest part of the walkway available, or the least icy, but there’s no option to do anything else so you have to go on the ice. I keep thinking, again, that I’m going to die in a bizarre slipping incident where I fall on my arse and crack my head open on the floor.

When I go for a shower, I feel as though I’m going to slip in there and result in the same bewildering death as I would on the ice or the stair case. But that’s not all, I’m becoming frightened of transport too. “Is the guy next to me a suicide bomber? Is the bus going to explode? Will I die on my next journey, or will it be when I least expect? If I expect it, can I survive and get out of it?” The same thoughts shadow my mind when I’m in my step-dad’s car if he drops me off somewhere. I don’t know where all this has come from.

The voice doesn’t help and does worsen the situation because it creates wild imaginations and ideas of what will happen to me and how. At night I think about these things and wake up wondering if there’s someone in my room who’s going to slit my throat at night if I stay asleep. Or disembowel me, or put me through an industrial shredder. Or something. It sucks, man. I don’t know how I can kick it.

The other thing that’s been clouding my mind, and has caused some anxiety is that of telling the truth to my half-brother. All his life he’s believed that my step father is my biological father, and that we lived/moved in various places together, when in fact my mother brought me up on her own without help from my biological father. He asks me questions now and again, like what the house was like that we lived in? What was dad’s job back then? What about our mother? Shit like that, and he’s only come to me with these questions.

I feel depressed that I have to live this lie, and that saying otherwise may disturb the balance in the family. We’re pretty dysfunctional (as are most families), but I think this would cause a lot of undue animosity. I guess my thinking is that my revelation to him would unhinge him, as in “what else are you lying about?”. I don’t want to be confronted by that question, and I guess writing it out now is making me feel slightly less burdened, but all the same, I feel he has to know at some point.

“At what age do I tell him?” is another question that comes up. If I told him when we were younger he wouldn’t have understood, and our parents were together. He’s a teenager now, so I wonder if he can handle something like that. He’s growing up, maybe he will detest me in time. It will also upset my mother and my step-father I believe.

I feel it’s a no win situation and that I should just keep my mouth shut about it, and let everyone accept that this is truth, even though it’s clearly a lie.

Fuck.