Paranoia

Paranoia

November 1988

18 years old

I couldn’t help it. Really, I couldn’t. That’s why I’m here. But I’m okay, now. Honest. It all started when I walked through the library at school. Anonymous. Everything, everyone: Anonymous Then I opened my eyes. I mean really opened my eyes and I saw. Someone was looking at me. I saw him whisper something to his friend. They both laughed. I turned away and walked to the back of the room and sat on a couch near the window. I took out a book and started to read.

The next day I came back. Same place, different faces. No problem. More people looking. Looking, whispering, laughing. Don’t look. Please. Stop laughing.

Every day more and more people watch, whisper, laugh. Every day that wide open space is somehow larger and harder to cross. Walking to and from my classes inside, then outside to my car. Everyone talks. Everyone laughs. Stop it!

I walk down the stairs—Hey little lady. Smile for me—cat calls, mean laughter. People just looking looking looking. It’s a public space, I can sit here, don’t look at me. Back of the room, please, in a dark corner surrounded by study carrels. No one can see me here. No one. But I can still hear the whispers, the laughter…

Stop it, please, just stop. Don’t do this to me. I’m not I’m not I’m not…

I crawl onto the carrel and curl into a ball, face in, back to the world. My ears are plugged. I pull an imaginary black velvet drape over the top and front of the carrel. No one can see me, I don’t exist. I don’t hear them… Persecution!

I’m here all by myself.

Now I find myself here in this new space—not black anymore, but white. Antiseptic white. Anonymous white. Doctors with white coats, patients with white robes, white slippers. All anonymous, all blaringly white.

I look up in this sea of anonymity and at first I see nothing, no one. And then he appears. He is looking at me. He leans over to his friend and whispers. They smile and laugh.

STOP IT! I yell. I’M NOT, DO YOU HEAR ME? I’M NOT I’M NOT I’M NOT…!!!