(A collection of paranoid thoughts that have, at one point or another, crossed my mind with all the legitimacy and seriousness of regular, rational thought).
(A few of them might not be that paranoid.)
- That my psychiatrist is listening to me ramble and secretly thinking: this guy is crazy. Or worse, that she’s thinking about what to have for dinner that night.
- That the guy who drove the car that hit me is out there and waiting to find me so he can sue me for wrecking his property, which is apparently something you can do in Germany.
- That Charles Manson or Star will somehow know that I’ve written a play about them and come find me. With knives and terrible Beatles-esque music.
- That I’ll wake up one morning and find myself back in Spandau hospital. I’ll attempt to leave and they’ll push me back down – “Was denken Sie wo Sie gehen?” – and they’ll tell me I’ve been in a coma since August last year and that my parents in Australia will be so glad to hear that I’ve made it out.
- That I’ll have a “brain injury” moment and lose my keys somewhere in public and a mass murderer will find them and somehow figure out where I live and come visit.
- That I’ll become successful.
- That I won’t become successful.
- That all my friends in Sydney aren’t really my friends and actually sort of hate me, but feel obliged to humour me since I almost died.
- That the industry I want to work in is collapsing in on itself.
- That, stepping into the shower, I’ll slip and snap my spine in two and be makeshift-water boarded by the running showerhead over my paralysed face.
- That the addictive elements of my personality are currently lying dormant and quiet – too quiet – and in a few months time someone’ll offer me a hit of ice and for some dumb reason I’ll accept and it’ll all become much worse than it was before and I’ll end up hooking and meth-addicted on the streets. The streets of Sydney, no less.
- That I’m actually not able to forgive anyone – really forgive and mean it.
- That a heavy stream of rush-hour businessmen and women will continue to spill onto the tram or train I’m on and not stop, collectively breathing in all the air ‘till there’s nothing left and I drop to the ground, gasping for air like a dying goldfish while more people continue to cram in and crush my body to a fine flesh-and-blood-coloured pulp.
- That I’m actually a fraud but I’m so deep in my own delusion that even I can’t see it, but everyone else can.
- That I’ll bump into people I used to know from high school in a public forum and they’ll initiate conversation and ask: “so what’ve you been up to for the past 8 years?”…or worse, that they won’t; they’ll just try and talk about the weather.
- That everyone thinks I’m a lazy and inconsiderate person by not going to the majority of social outings I’m invited to and that I should just “try harder”.
- That I’ll be Facebook stalking someone and accidentally hit the “add friend” button and not realise.
- That the post-tooth-removal hole in my mouth hasn’t actually healed and is, in fact, beginning to turn gangrenous.
- That I’ll never get to go overseas again and it’ll be this one memory at the back of my brain of this one time I went overseas and it sucked. (It actually didn’t suck except for the “nearly dying” part but my brain, in this instance, is tricky.)
- That I’ll blink and suddenly be 45 and smoking menthol cigarettes and unfashionable and still doing tiny independent shows with no budget or class and a sharply declining quality.
- That I’m lying to myself and I’ve learned nothing from the events of the past year.