Success: A Story

Regardless of what some might say, I have some progress in my life and have pictures and a menu to prove it. There was a time when I would only eat very plain food and would not allow one type of food to touch another type when on my plate (for example, cauliflower could not touch the brussel sprouts). There was no way boiled potatoes could touch the stewing beef as the liquid from the beef would colour the potatoes, and potentially make them soggy. Two things had to happen – the beef had to go on a separate plate and bits of onion and most of the liquid from the beef had to be removed. One would imagine that this made my food life pretty bland and depressing, but these feelings were not felt – instead a feeling of comfort and safety.

I suppose the first change came when after booking a flight to Italy for the first time. I thought to myself, “I cannot go to Italy with my diet,” so I tried eating pasta. Within weeks I was an addict, though eating the pre-made jars of sauce.

Then, when living in Germany, I tried strawberries – this led on to blueberries, green beans, wholemeal bread, sweetcorn, peppers, even carrots. I had never been so healthy (though I lost lots of weight, and was always feeling hungry).

It is only fair that I admit that whilst I was trying new food, I was often just eating the same ‘new’ dish over and again – a habit that is hard to kick.

Now I cook everything from scratch, and am starting to try new recipes even. Before, going to restaurants was difficult, to say the least. Now I can eat in most places.

The question that has always entered my mind throughout all of this is the extent to which these issues with food are expressions of altogether different issues. Someone once raised the question to me, “What if you tried the food and liked it?” It was then suggested that my fear of food is a symptom of my fear of success, or of being happy. At the time this seemed true to me. However, if this is true, how come the fears of living life do not disappear alongside the fears of food? That is very puzzling, and I will probably never have an answer. Nonetheless, one should be content with the new variety of food in one’s life.

(Since writing this, I now eat bruschetta, corn on the cob, and flapjacks).

When trouble begins...

I just realized that I have a fear of downstairs toilets.

I have a memory of sitting on the toilet in my home as a child, my feet only just touching the U shaped toilet carpet, and suddenly seeing an insect - a beetle or louse or something. I screamed and ran out, paying no attention to the circumstances of the act of using the toilet. My mother and siblings could not find the insect, leaving me knowing that it was there, hiding, waiting for me to be alone again. In the 15 years that followed I used the toilet upstairs, unless circumstances dictated that I use the downstairs one. In these few instances I would rush, ensure my feet did not touch the carpet, and rapidly move my eyes around the floor, looking for this insect to show itself. It never did.

Amor Fati

It really is true that when presented with the opportunity to actually change something about oneself, in particular, one's appearance, that very thing that one always wished one could change or 'correct'', there is the sudden realisation that to accept such an opportunity would be to alter something that is so inherently oneself, that this no longer becomes a dream but a nightmare. Well, that's how I feel about changing my teeth, anyway.

The living dead and the dead living

It is true that I have always been afraid (or at least wary) of clowns. I have also never felt at ease with china dolls. When one considers the two, one can see that both the clown and the china doll actually have similar features. Both are unpleasant and can be used to scare and intimidate . I would say that the difference between them lies in their personalities, yet both personalities cause alarm.

The clown, with his crazy face and oversized and over-coloured clothes, acts with frightful enthusiasm and silliness. He also always wants to act with an element of surprise - the only result being intense fear and panic on the surprised. No-one likes surprises. The clown is never still in the presence of another human, heightening our sense of panic. I don't think horror films that have clowns in them began this fear - clowns were always to be afraid of (and always wanted to be).

The china doll also has a madness in her face and wears clothes that give it a ghost-like image. Her face has similar painting to the clowns, though slightly shinier. Her eyelids can move up and down (and we are always waiting for them to flicker). The clothes are from strange periods in history, ranging from what looks like the early eighteenth to the late nineteenth century, and always from the upper-middle classes. There is always a feeling of her coming back from the past. Or being dead, but never having died. Either way she is never from our age and is therefore always judging our present age. She has a stillness that makes us quiver. My great aunt used to have lots of china dolls in her house (only great aunts do) - at any moment they could have come alive (at night they surely did). The gaze is cold and dead, which is how you will end up if one of these dolls gets their way.

The clown intimidates with his chaotic personality, the china doll with her cool, watchful personality. Both have some kind of angry mental disorder and are truly psychotic. As an informed man once said to me, "they [clowns and china dolls] are two sides of the same coin." The clown should be dead yet is alive, and the china doll is dead but should be alive. The clown is the appalling reality of an inanimate thing come to life, the doll the appalling reality of the living thing petrified. That is enough to frighten the toughest of humans.

My relationship to nature is at a distance

My relationship to nature is at a distance, particuarly with things that grow, such as plants.

I have never felt at one with nature. What's more, I do not think this is ever possible. I think, in fact, that I fear nature, or, rather, the possibility of contact with nature (even though I believe this is never possible). Perhaps it is also because I live in the city. In the city there are some trees, parks, flower-beds (usually cordoned off to prevent contact with the public), but generally there is a lack of nature, and an overabundance of concrete. this may be a contributing factor to my inability to relate to nature. I cannot touch an insect, I cannot sit on the grass, I cannot have trees towering over me. I can't even pick up a leaf. This is a sickness of modern times that I am unwilling to try to cure (an altogether other sickness). At the same time, I would say that those who believe that they have crossed the boundary line of the natural world are deluded, and slightly arrogant.

One of the most uncomfortable things I have ever seen is an advert for a moisturizing cream, which took as its subject a dry autumn leaf, and 'cured' this by putting the said moisturizer on it. The image on screen was then one of a very soft leaf that still had youth on its side

When it comes to rocks I am also fearful. They are so strong and sturdy, that even the strongest waves smack against them without causing the slightest damage. Who could stand up to that? Not that I long for a confrontation with the rock - I just don't want to get involved.

The expression of someone being a "rock" is meant to be one that is applied to a person who is strong during difficulties, doesn't weep during another's sad time but lets waves of tears of the other crash against them. What about the cold, unmoving, unaffected side of the "rock"? This is the problem when humans try to apply nature to themselves - all kinds of difficulties arise.

The fear of the sea is so obvious there is no point in discussing it.