What goes on in my head is complicated and it’s not something that I can easily describe and it’s definitely not something that you can show, even if there was such a machine.
It’s where all those murderous, violent thoughts occur about people who piss me off or just generally get in my way. It’s where all the fantasies, the what ifs, the general plot ideas for stories act out without anyone’s knowledge. It’s like my personal movie theatre in there.
Some days, there are bits of memories playing and others just bits and pieces of movies that I watched. Sometimes, it’s even the books I’ve read because for me, reading a book is like watching it unfold in my head.
My head is also where I like to spend a lot of time in, away from the troubles of real life. It’s escapism, I know but that’s how I cope with things. I go through the motions but I’m not really there. My head is cozy, peaceful most of the time and it’s familiar. It’s like a big rolling, green hill that I’ve usurped from the Teletubies.
However, spending too much time in there isn’t all that great either. I have days, sometimes weeks of negativity flowing in my head. During those times, my head is like a dark, dank bog, filled with dead soldiers in the water and scary monsters ready to pop out and drag you away into their lair, to be eaten slowly while you scream and scream for your life.
Those bog monsters could be anything from regrets, past mistakes and just all-round self-doubt and self-loathing. I’m generally ok with myself but those times that I fall into the slippery, slope of self-doubt and into the crushing mouth of the self-hate monster, I’d be grappling for freedom and I don’t know where to ask for help. In fact, I’m afraid to ask for help for fear that it would be trivialised.
It’s during those times that I try not to spend too much time in my head. It’s too dangerous. If I happen to spend a little more time then I should, I’d actually trigger a self-induced panic attack. It’s stupid I know but that’s how I roll.
So the next time you see me staring off into space, give me a gentle tap on the shoulder. You won’t know but you could be saving me from the bog monster in my head. Or, disrupting the wonderful thought I was having about Dean Winchester. And Spike. I’d rather be snapped out of a
fantasy thought than to be left in my head and fight with my monsters.