I am the first to admit I have a paranoia problem.
If in public, I think everyone is looking at me, judging me on how my hair is curled or how pretty my make up is, and that they all magically know that my thoughts are perpetually filled with unicorns, sex, and Tim Horton's. I also assume that I'm just so bursting with excellence that anyone cares what the fuck I'm doing in the midst of trying to survive their own lives.
At home, my paranoia is even worse.
I have an entire list of problems that have to do with my paranoia at home, even though we live in the safest place possible. We live on a frickin' army base, and yet I still have things to worry about. Here is a run-down of the things that bother me in my own home:
1. The creepy little door in the guest room - Yes, it's just a door, albeit a creepy little door, and it's blocked off from the inside so that nobody can get into the crawlspace and hide bodies there. The army frowns upon that. But I swear to God, it's going to open some day and something is going to come out and try to get me. Thus, I always have the guest room door closed. Because anything ready to eat my soul obviously won't be able to turn a doorknob.
2. The neighbors across the street - Have I met these people? ...No. Which only suffices to ensure that my theory is right. They're serial killers. I watch Criminal Minds, I know it's not always the creepy motherfucker who talks to a rotten peanut on the street corner that is apt to kill an innocent housewife. And the fact that they have never said hello, and that they are active only at night is proof that they are either plotting to kill me, or they are too busy strangling innocent co-eds in bathtubs full of cole slaw to be bothered with me. Case closed.
3. The creaks and shit - This house settles more on its own than any house ought to. I can be woken up at four in the morning because I'm absolutely certain that someone has broken in, stabbed my husband in his sleep when I can't even walk past him without waking him up, and is now coming for me. And the creaking and shit is LOUD. It sounds like someone is falling through the goddamn floor! What the fuck is up with that?
4. Husband's former roommate - At one time, my husband allowed a fellow soldier to board with him for some extra cash each month to pay for our wedding. Said roommate turned out to be a seriously messed up fucker. He got married, brought the girl all the way to Canada from Germany, then left her alone and cheated on her and swore he was doing the right thing the whole time. He then moves in with my husband, buys a dog and...well, I don't even want to think about it. Anyway, Husband kicked him out. Now I'm afraid some dark night this former roommate will return, key in hand, sneak in, and stab/rape us in our sleep. And not necessarily in that order.
5. The MPs - No, I've never met the military police. Nor would there be any reason for them to be coming to our door. But I am always paranoid that the cops are comin' to get me. I'm just that awesome that I'd be arrested for being awesome. And I have images of women's prison in Canada being similar to the hole of a Siberian gulag. Cold and full of prisoner rape and ugly tattoos.
6. Strangers who knock on our door - Every once and a while, a stranger will knock on our door. I do the only logical thing, and hide where I can't be seen. This is usually in the space between the wall in the kitchen and the fridge. Because that's how the serial killing rapists who want to nail my dead body get inside. They come to the door like service professionals. I'm on to you, serial killing necrophiliac rapists.
7. Children - The local children freak me the fuck out. Because kids freak me the fuck out. And I'm always worried they're going to come to the door with their little Canadian accents and I won't be able to understand what they're saying and they'll run off and cry to their fathers/mothers/crazy uncles who will come and punch me in the face. Very real fear here.
I'm sure I have more problems with the house, but that's because when I lived alone, I lived in apartments about the size of a shoebox. I could see everything and I never left so I knew nobody could have gotten in.
Oh, sleepless paranoid nights, I'm on to you.