"I'm forever blowing bubbles." (an old song)

I am living in a bubble. A bubble of anxiety. Freddie told me this - but, of course, I already knew. It has been there as far as I can remember. At first I didn't know that I was seeing life through the distorting lens of this bubble - and with a grey film over everything. -I thought everybody saw the world like this. Now I know that they don't.
I "blew" this bubble a long time ago - to protect me from something. Freddie and I both know what that something is; but we also know that it's dangerous to burst the bubble before we know what may take its place. (or what we can put in its place!)
I shouldn't be discussing this with you, Anna - it's very unethical. But who can I talk to? Not this lot in here - they're all mad. They don't listen, anyway. I listen to them. But they don't listen to me. It's like talking to myself.

Well, today is Polling Day. And no, Anna, I am not enamoured of Mr Brown, and his band of desperadoes. And as for the other two: well, they seem nice enough lads, and they probably mean well, but they are so earnest about everything. Where are the jokes? Still, I suppose you have to be careful if you want to be elected Prime Minister - careful not to offend anybody. Until you are elected, got your feet under the desk - then you can offend whomsoever you want, and there's bugger all they can do about it!

I was reading in the Guardian that Jo Brand (you've probably never heard of her, Anna, but she is a 'comedienne' who has carved a successful television career by elevating vulgarity to an art form.) who is one of the 'celebrities' supporting Labour's campaign, was asked by a journalist why people should not vote for Mr Cameron.
'Because he's a knob' responded the lady.
The article continued by imagining the 1949 election campaign: 'Mr Atlee. Why should people not vote for Mr Churchill?'
'Because he's a knob'.

The pundits say it could be the closest general election for over a century. Well, I know who I'm going to vote for. But I'm not telling. Not even you, Anna. Of course we've had all the candidates around here. One of them (I'm not saying from which party) said to me: Can I rely on your vote?
I said: If you get in power will you make me happy? His smile slipped for a moment, then he said: We'll do our best. And his aide quickly ushered him to the nearest exit.

'What do you think your bubble is protecting you from?' says Freddie.
'You know what it's protecting me from.'
'I'd like you to tell me.'
I give him the answer he wants (which also happens to be true) 'It is preventing me from experiencing 'authentic' feelings which too painful or too dangerous.'
'And those feelings are...?' persists my psychiatrist.
'Anger, fear, grief, JOY, EXHILARATION.'

Did you ever see that film, George -"The Mouse That Roared"? He doesn't wait for an answer. 'It's about a fictitious mid-European principality which is on the verge of bankruptcy. The foreign minister goes to the president and says - I've got this great idea: we'll declare war on America. They will invade - and it will be all over in two days. Then they will be responsible for us, and will have look after us. The president thinks about this for a minute or two, then says - What happens if we win?
Are you afraid of winning, George?

Oh, he's a clever one, is that Freddie. And of course, he's hit the nail right on the thumb - as my mother used to say. My anxiety (and my depression - they go hand in hand) are a way of avoiding responsibility. That's what he's saying. My bubble may be humiliating, distressful, degrading,down-dragging and life limiting - but it is familiar - it's safe. I know this - and he knows that I know it. But can I get to the point where I can take the risk - burst the bubble?

'So what are you going to do about it Freddie?' I ask.
'What are we going to do about it, George. This is a joint effeort - remember.'
'Okay, fair enough. But you're the professional - give us a clue.'
'George, I'd like you to think about what it would be like if the bubble were to burst. Not now, I mean go away and think about it. Write it down - in as much detail as you can: what would you be , thinking, feeling and, most importantly, what would you be doing, if you were no longer in this bubble? We can talk about it at our next session. By the way, Gretchen tells me you have been talking to Clive?'
'Yes, what of it?' I answer, somewhat tetchily.
'And Derek? And Carmen?'
Well, of course. You said you wanted me to 'mix' with the other loonies (sorry clients).'
'What about Eric?' persists my shrink.
'Look, what is this Freddie?' I am beginning to get annoyed.
Freddie looks at his watch. 'I think we'll leave it there for the day - our time's just about up.' He smiles at me. 'Don't forget your 'homework'' he jokes.
As I am leaving I suddenly remember. 'Oh, Anna's coming to visit me on Sunday - I suppose that's okay?'
'Of course - I'm looking forward to meeting her.'
'Funny - that's what she said.'
I'm a bit nervous - about Sunday, Anna. I You see I'm not used to meeting new people. No, I know you're not new... well, you know what I mean.

I've been trying to lift my mood by reading Shakespeare's comedies. It's no good. I just don't get the jokes.
'Much ado about nothing'. I suppose if he'd written that today - for television - it would be 'Much ado about fuck-all'. Starring Jo Brand.

Thanks for putting the duck/goose into perspective. But I still think find things so sad. Life, I mean. I guess it is my perspective. Can I change me perspetive? Do I want to? I certainly want to be free from all of this anxiety stuff.

Freud said: Much will be gained if we succeed in transforming your hysterical misery into common unhappiness.
I will gladly settle for that.

Oh, and thank Brian for taking the photo and putting it on the blog - you can really see the poor little duck's bald spot.

Until Sunday, then...

George