As I said to my shrink an hour or two ago, "I really can't think of anything causing me anxiety right now".That's a pretty peculiar, if not downright uncharacteristic thing for someone with GAD to say. The progress is undeniable though, as both the blue and red lines on the graph show. When they both cross the 'x' axis, I'm cured LOL!
The biggest thing worrying me was getting the job. The next biggest thing was chatting to my landlord about moving out. Now that both these things are achieved it would (albeit slowly) appear that I have less, if not no things to fret about and just a big fat hole in the future for me to fill with things I can actually look forward to. Assuming I can cling on to the job, that is.
How bizzare.
I don't know quite what to make of it all. Every now and then I'm gripped by fear that there's something I've forgotten, but when I think about it there really isn't anything hanging over me right now. I guess that having to wait for a year to feel that way makes that feeling unusual when it finally arrives.
Things seem OK though. I've managed not to repeat my tardiness at work, although bedding down my sleep schedule is still taking extra perseverance. The needy neighbour is playing a role in fucking this up by hunting me down and taking up all the time I have whilst at home. I want to spend as little time with him as possible because I already feel he's sucking the life out of me, yet he seems to want to hang out for every free nanosecond. I'd prefer to go to bed early enough to be able to hit the gym before work but all he wants to do is stay up as late as possible, smoke as much weed as possible (my weed, that is), and get drunk.
Then again, he is more than ten years my junior.
So whilst I will genuinely miss parts of his personality and company when he goes home to Alberta in two or three weeks, I won't miss him stalking me. Indeed, he seems to be a rather peculiar chap given that he has none of the social norms that usual apply to personal space, privacy, and boundaries. During the last month or two, amongst other things he's: (a) knocked on the front door at some point between midnight and 1am, after staggering home drunk from the pub; (b) called or texted me every day about dinner plans even though I've made no dinner plans with him; (c) called me two weeks running while I was in group therapy, when I'd asked him not to; (d) called me SEVEN TIMES IN ONE DAY when I didn't answer his first call. Just yesterday he invited himself to work out with me in the morning when I really didn't want him around.
He called me ELEVEN times between circa 0630 and 0930 that day. Thankfully, my mobile phone was still in my coat pocket downstairs so I didn't hear it ring LOL!
I'm cogniscent that, being depressed and anxiety-ridden, it seems a bit rich for me to turn down company when I've yearned for it so much. Jeez though, I have my limits. And I need to look after myself before I worry about adhering to anybody else's agenda or needs. Besides, this guy and his stalking habits just aren't normal.
For example, he cant seem to use doors. Instead of knocking on the door, he has a habit of walking around the house from window to window, peering in until he can see me and then knocking on the window. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer talking face-to-face rather than talking through the wire mesh that stops mosquitoes infesting the house through the hole. He's made me jump out of my skin several times now, especially since the evenings have started to draw in and with the lights on inside, it's impossible to see outside.
So these days I don't stroll up to the front door and slam it behind me when I return home from work or shrinkage. Conversely, once I'm within 200 metres of the house I start to tip-toe. 50 metres out I silence my cell phone (so if he calls it, he can't hear the ringtone). 25 metres out and my house key is out of my pocket and gripped tight in my sweaty palm. 10 metres out and I make sure I clear my throat, cough, sneeze, and perform any other necessary bodily functions that make any sound whatsoever. Inside ten metres and the SAS have nothing on me - I dart from shadow to shadow, gripping the loose change in my pocket like it's the driver's seat armrest in the Space Shuttle cockpit so that it won't rattle.
The gravel driveway is crunchy underfoot so I sidewind to the left, taking the edge of the front steps in a single bound because they creak like buggery when stepped upon. I've now mastered the art of getting the carnivorous* screen door open, the door unlocked, and me inside before the beeping of the burglar alarm can be heard outside. I leave my coat and bag somewhere that they cannot be seen from ANY window, and then often sneak upstairs to cower in my room until I know it's safe. There's been times when my housemate has arrived home to find me sitting in pitch-blackness, because I know one weak moment in front of a light switch and my presence will be given away. Seems immature, but some days I just can't face dealing with him.
Let's not forget that for a two or three-week period, the only times he seemed to show up were when I'd just poured myself a drink, just lit a cigarette, just lit a spliff, or just dished up dinner. It really began to get on my tits. Then, he started to say things like, "I saw your light was on so I thought I'd pop round and...[bla bla bla]".
Saw my bedroom light was on?
Considering the disorder I have it's a godsend that I'm not peeling off the wallpaper and ripping up the floorboards in my room, hunting for hidden cameras and microphones. Doesn't he have anything better to do than keep me under constant surveillance?
Apparently not. Just two more weeks to hang on though...!
*Yes, carnivorous. My screen door is a carnivore, and on several occasions has taken a vicious bite out of my Achilles tendon as I try to get through the fucking doorway without it tripping me up, or the door handle trying to give me anal pleasures as it whistles quickly and permanently shut like a bear trap.
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