Simple Anguish

One thing I felt that must be brought to your attention is that the creation of my so called "box" was not purely based on fears. For someone like myself, anxiety is only a part of what plagues our day to day lives although for some it can become quite a large factor and will usually intertwine itself with other debilitation's. Personally though, my flights into my inviolable territory could be brought on by many diverse situations. These circumstances do not have to be what you would call 'traumatic' but instead could be as simple as a statement, or even just a single, direct look from someone. You see, for most people a touch of criticism or a quick look of frustration from someone whom you trust would only give an initial sense of defensiveness, maybe followed by a slight feeling of unease. Usually though you are able to see past this within seconds and take it for what it truly is, that being nothing earth shattering. However, for myself, either of these plights could bring on an instantaneous series of very intense emotions; Acute anger that causes my hands to shake, yet I have never struck out at anyone choosing instead to withhold it inside myself. Then, without fail, comes the all consuming knowledge of being worthless, inadequate and insignificant. And as I stand there, hands trembling, eyes downcast because any contact would shatter me, my stomach tied up in so many knots that it strangely feels completely empty, all I can think of is how can I escape? Usually, God willing, I can find my way to my box, going through what the professionals call Dissociation: a mental process that severs a connection to a person's thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity;.. is a normal response to trauma, and allows the mind to distance itself from experiences that are too much for the psyche to process at that time. Another term some might use for this disruption is a mental shut down, but I prefer to think of it as 'closing off.' At this point all I really hear is my own thoughts, but not the soft quiet images you might think would come to someone who wears the hollow look of one whom has withdrawn entirely. No, rather its as if someone had placed a Strobe light inside my skull and with each flash of blinding light would come my own voice bluntly reminding me of every possible negative aspect of my own existence; then, as the light slows and finally stops its incessant barrage to destroy whats left of my psyche, all that remains is my longing to end it all, for I am so very, very tired. Drawing on the one ability I have grown to know so well, I force myself to breath slow and deep, and even though my eyes may remain open, all that I am truly seeing is the cardboard walls rising up and over me, enveloping me in their asylum of simplicity.