I Become a Monster

Wednesday 15th July 2020

It’s all about me. It’s worse for me. Others are suffering more. But they don’t have my nerves. You see in extremity how different are the temperaments. Others don’t suffer from nerves. They settle comfortably to the News on radio or TV. No sick dread. I can’t bear to turn it on. They settle to the whole horror. This is not a presumption. They must be settled for why else they would be cheerful at all?   All my life my nerves have been bad. At Prep the school spaghetti made me sick at the table. Matron (horrid, cruel woman) was furious. Her car had no brakes. She had to drive round and round until it stopped. It was propelled by wound up rubber bands.  I was used to proper Neopolitan at home with tomato sauce that included a bay leaf and cloves. Not radioactive orange waste and slimy tinned worms.

The other boys were not wracked like this. They were better adjusted.

People have folded into themselves. Those in couples have ascended without fail to a sunny upland. Suddenly the intimate companion is wholly satisfactory, when there is no chance of a preferable alternative or even a playful diversion.  A permanent Time of Wrong might resolve permanently those tendencies in domestic life – the roving eye, the 7-year itch, the signal of the buxom secretary immeasurably lesser in age or the lusty Scandinavian au pair, readily available in the laundry room. But whose left alone in their drawing rooms with nothing but their nerves have little chance as terror stalks the carpets.

Perhaps I am nursing Post-Traumatic Stress disorder. You can get that from little things, as well as large. You don’t have to have been blown up in a tank. Muriel McGlorian suffered the loss of her earrings, stolen by a wicked neighbouring girl, the first time she went out to play at the age of 3 or maybe a little older. She never recovered.  She didn’t know that she had never recovered until shortly before her death. I can well believe it. If some are blown up in a tank and not afflicted by Post Traumatic Stress disorder as is known to be the case, then it follows that it is not the severity of the event that causes it, but the severity of the reaction.

I have gone back. Progress has been overturned. I dread the return home after company as the return to school after the holidays but with the waiting added in that nothing bad as come from company.


Posted Wednesday, July 15, 2020 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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