I really can't imagine that I am paranoid, nor can I imagine that it has anything to do with my imagination,( I never actually imagined that it did). Although, I do have to say that I have never been an individual who has the gift of long-range vision, or been able to dream about future possibilities constructively. When I was a freshman in High School and running from the latest bully in my life, I never conceived, nor did I ever have a notion that one day as an adult I would still be running. Oh, it may be a mere fantasy of actually running, but the desired result is always to try and avoid a bully.
Inanimate objects appear to have me in their crosshairs, and I am getting the sense that they are somehow communicating and working together. Stairs are continually trying to trip me, and it has become more than just an isolated incident. I am not a conspiracy theorist by any definition, nor am I currently under any disillusions, or taking any active hallucinogenic drugs,( prescription, of course ). I strongly suspect, however. that there is a flow of communication here that is being cleverly concealed...and that the vast majority of us remain unaware. No matter where I go, the stairs that are in that place seem to know I'm coming and appear to have worked out a strategy beforehand to foil any attempt on my part to descend them with any amount of grace or dignity. No one has ever actually witnessed tiny hands reaching out of the stairs and grabbing my ankles while I am going down, or that are pushing up on the bottoms of my feet, causing me to fall forward, but that's got to be the explanation. The stairs are the original, and remain to be, the grand masters of the slight of hand trick. No matter how much I concentrate and look for the deception, they seem to have anticipated my level of attention to detail. Somehow they get me even if I am holding a rail in one hand, and someone's hand, walking stick, or the opposite rail with the other hand. Sigh....I'll probably never have a clear understanding of how the trick is done. The best that I can do is to avoid them whenever possible and to give all my up and down business to their direct competition (that would be an elevator or ramp). Or better yet, maybe I should just sit on a log in front of the ocean.
I also have become convinced that the floors in my home somehow just know when I am going to stand up from a piece of furniture, walk down the hallway, or move from room to room. They begin to pitch and roll, and I start to feel like the little steel ball in the Labyrinth Game that is being bounced around while the player of the game manipulates the board and tries to avoid the holes. I see the holes now as bullies, and my life has now become one of avoidance. The funny thing about this is that no one else in my family seems to notice the floor angling and yawning as I am aggressively, and violently, tossed about like a rowboat in the midst of a Hurricane. Everything appears to them as normal, except for the fact that I seem to have an endless supply of ants in my pants.
I used to play a game when I was a kid where I would pretend that the floor was covered with hot lava. Death was immediate if you touched the floor, so I would jump from one piece of furniture to the next, walk across end tables, or make my way across the window sill if it connected me to the next piece of furniture. I went through all this, not only because it was fun, or the fact that I wasn't the one who had bought the furniture that I was ruining by jumping all over it, but also because I didn't want to get burned up. Back then it seems like the furniture and I had an understanding. Apparently, they could touch the molten rock and not be burned up, and they were only too happy to let me pounce all over them, and they would keep me safe. That sentiment has changed. They are now working in unison with the floor, giving me a false sense of security and relaxation, and then pushing me out whenever the floor signals,( subtle vibration, a slight wink), and another Labyrinth Game begins.
The doorways in my house either have a way to sense my approach, actually see me coming, or the floor is passing on a message that I am heading their way because the openings always shrink a split second before I walk through. They do this so that I am sure to step into the frame. As I have already stated, I am not delusional, but I can hear a faint snicker of laughter in the instant immediately following, or at least have had a vague impression that I heard laughter. All my furniture in the house has begun to do the same thing, expanding by a fraction so I will be sure to stub my toe, bang my knee or drive my shoulder into a sharp corner. It then will quickly shrink back to normal so that it appears as if I'M the one with the problem.
Whenever I leave the house, I get the same impression that you get when you are facing another person, talking and exchanging pleasantries. All the while, there is a person behind your back who is signaling frantically and waving at the person with whom you are speaking. The person behind you wants to convey a message to the one you are conversing with that there is a secret they should not divulge. Of course, all this happens without your knowledge, and you go on your way none the wiser. I suspect this happens to me every day, except it is my house that is alerting the sidewalks that I am on the move again. No, I can't actually prove anything because if I turn around, the house will just be sitting there with an innocent look. But, as the sidewalks seem to know of my approach beforehand, this would appear to be the obvious answer as to how this is possible. And it is the reason why I carry a big stick, to hold down the sidewalks when they get unruly.....well, that and the whole balance thing.
Writing has become an issue, but I don't believe that it is my fault. I think my penmanship is perfect and that I am a victim of a systematic plot to make me look incompetent. I believe that all pens and pencils have small identification sensors in them that allow them to know precisely who has picked them up and is trying to use them. They then have the power, through internal programming, to write illegibly. I mean, how else would you explain the fact that my brain is telling my hand, in exact detail, what to write or draw and it just can't seem to do it?
I realize that a few of these things may be pretty far out there, even for simple speculation (whose ever heard of using a big stick for balance!). But as life with Ataxia goes on, I will continue, to the best of my wavering ability, to run from the bullies. And while I'm doing that, could I ask you a favor? If you ever see the stairs reaching for someone's ankle could you try to catch it on film and send it to me? Thanks.
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