You know the type of mirror. It's great for finding and plucking unsightly facial hairs but view your whole face in it and, oh boy, you can't turn the thing around quick enough! There's no perspective in that mirror; you see only imperfection. This is how I seem to observe every conversation I have, down to every last syllable I utter. There is zero perspective.
This is no mere passing fretfulness. I'm. Contorted. With. Anxiety. It's exhausting. Who needs enemies when we have ourselves?
Short of becoming a hermit (very tempting right now; a recluse with 5 cats. Let's get the stereo-type right), I'm not entirely sure what the answer is. Years of therapy, 23 weeks of CBT, every self help book that exists (almost), yes, I have all the tools in the shed but can't always seem to gain access to them. Finding the right drugs has often been problematic too.
Trying to avoid humans (no humans, no conversations to overanalyse) can only ever be a short-term solution. It's a bit like curling up with a hot water bottle - I want the warmth and the comfort of it, but make the bottle too hot, and it becomes as uncomfortable as being too cold. Likewise, I want the comfort of friends but too much contact, or too many people, and I struggle to cope.
Post it notes dotted about my flat, 'You are loved.' 'Don't believe everything you think.' 'Do not believe everything you tell yourself late at night'. Alas, the thoughts, they still stick inside my head like barnacles.
Ah yes, as one wise soul put it, 'As we got older, the monsters crept out from under our beds, to inside our heads.'
I hope one day to be able to smash the magnifying mirror to smithereens. Until then, I can remember that I maybe a bit of a fruitcake, an acquired taste even, but I like fruitcake; deep down, I like me (Suzy hugs herself).
Maybe sometimes, just maybe, we have grown more than we give ourselves credit for.
A Moodscope member.