The Novelty of Feigned Apathy

By 19:21 ,

I said no offence...


 This is my voice filled with ink and rage. Well, more like pixels and misplaced anxiety. I do declare that the novelty of feigned apathy has worn garishly thin. I've meticulously crafted a life where public access to my person is heavily regulated and restricted. And although I feel quite accomplished with my achievement, I've recently realised the cost of living the hermit lifestyle.

 Balance is illusive and even if we for one fleeting moment... in our twisted way think we've achieved that, we pretend divinity. I pretend a lot of things, I pretend to pay attention ffs, but divinity, I most certainly don't pull off.

 Functional agoraphobia. My grave, self imposed affliction. In ways, I can only complicate a situation further, my latest phobia goes beyond the basics. Don't get me wrong, I love being outside (provided it's not pissing with rain- thank you Cape of Storms), I just don't like being outside my comfort zone surrounded by strangers. So, basically you could call it acute adult-onset stranger danger syndrome. FML.


I'm not a fan of herding either. There's something about a crowd that dumbs people down, incites mass hysteria and encourages group stupidity. And we all know that stupid fucks are dangerous. Despite the fact that I can rationalise the necessity of my newly realised phobe with logically sound rebuttles of self preservation, I cannot as skilfully put my anxieties to rest. Maybe it's because I'm short. Maybe instinctively crowds and general public domain should unsettle me. Maybe I should just calm the fuck down and smoke a blunt.

 My name is Charlie Sunshine and I'm a functional agoraphobic. A functional agoraphobic who quite ironically copes better fully exposed to the elements with hundreds, sometimes thousands of strangers at a trance party. I suppose the difference is that the heavy weight of unwelcome judgement dissipitates, outside, under a big open sky, in a field where everyone congregates, pulsing and ebbing to the DJ's sermon. Or at least it seems that way. Your background, demographic, preferences, associations....they don't carry any of the (mis)preconceptions or judgements and with them their resulting weight; like they do on the "outside"...and by outside I mean public realm. Maybe people are too fucked to care, too focused on achieving perfect equilibrium within themselves. On their own buzz. Maybe I'm just too fucked to care. I count myself lucky to have met some of the nicest, most considerate, honest, down to earth people during my trance adventures. Real authentic. People either accept you for who you are or move on. It's rudimental. No hidden agendas. And so in turn, it encourages you to be the most authentic version of yourself. No front, no barriers...just you, as you are in every fucked up shade there is. That's as fair as it gets. Don't get me wrong, sure you get your posers, Juice Monkies and Belles and Whistles, but the reality is they're everywhere. Their impact is insignificant at best. When the very atmosphere you breathe consists of the presiding energy of naked freedom, everyone is beyond escape. There's no time for bullshit façades. (bet you can tell I'm itching for an outdoor party...patiently waiting for spring to Sprung.)

Alas, I must continue to pretend to be searching for some balance. Not automatically hurtling into a fit of quiet panic every time I come into contact with strangers or anybody not of my choosing. The novelty of feigned apathy is a thin almost translucent layer, but it's the only layer I have left to protect myself. Protect myself from bullshit, that is. One day when I grow up, I really want to not care about what anybody thinks of me. Not just pretend not to give a fuck. Namaste.

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About the Author

She peddles her words for pennies. She likes to dance in the corner. She's chronically overwhelmed by life and love. She's many things....things she doesn't even know that she doesn't know about.

It's complicated....but isn't it always?

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