I haven’t left the house for a long time. I’m sick and that’s how I justify my abstinence from the outside world. Feeling tiny bit guilty but not really because I think it’s actually the best. If you are sick you are eligible to be in opposition to being an adult. (Also eligible to phrase wrong sentences that make no sense but want to sound smart).
It’s not depression even though it fulfills most of the criteria! It’s about allowing yourself to don’t be of any value. To be as whiney as you want, as lazy and irresponsible as you like. (I have a secret pleasure in walking barefoot over our concrete floor with my bronchitis). My bed becomes my kingdom and treasure chest. After one day I find all kind of things in it, little objects that remind me that I was actually doing something during the day. Next to the bed it doesn’t look so good but fortunately I am lying so high that I don’t see most of the cups and plates, and skins of fruits that would make a pretty still life. If it wasn’t for the coughing it would be a perfect day. Reading, falling asleep, wasting time in front of the Internet, watching a film, eating, looking at the fridge, changing positions, trying weird combinations of medicine, most of them beyond their expiration date and in different order same things again. I don’t know if it’s just me but I was always like that. It’s the dependent child in me I talked about before, who wants to be fully taken care of.
This might really also have something to do with being so overwhelmed by the outside world. Simply taking a subway can turn into a moral disaster.
(F.ex. I need to give every musician with a Sinti and Roma background money, just to make a statement for the other passengers, cause I think I know how this unloved minority is being regarded as less than the Motzverkäufer. Obviously I then feel guilty about not giving money to the Motzverkäufer because it’s not his fault that most of the people are just racist assholes, so I give him money as well, but I of course don’t feel good about myself, I know how I exploit all these people for my very own injustice complex and luxury problems and with money I try to buy myself free of this gulit. I also tried not giving money but just smiling in an overly-exaggerated manner to express my sympathy? But than of course I hear them think: “Stop smiling stupid bitch and give me your change”. When I leave the subway it doesn’t stop, I feel I’m involved with everybody and everything, as if anyone cares if I stand up for something. But it’s stronger than me and so I mediate, reconcile, confront, fight, teach, charm, discuss, thank, smile, and so on until I’m exhausted and I hate everyone and just want to be in bed with my big blanket and my perfect still life.
Boviscopophobia: a morbid fear of being seen as a bovine, a term invented and suffered from and by David Foster Wallace
Die Angst als Herdentier angesehen zu werden.