today's weather: S L I G H T . D E P R E S S I O Nanxiety : 1 | agitation : 1
I bought a copy of Dean Koontz' novel False Memory from a used books store. I saw it a couple months ago and being drawn in by the back-cover teaser, I wanted to devour it. Autophobia, I thought, this will be interesting.
Too interesting in fact. Fourth chapter and loving it. But I now wonder if i should discontinue reading.
Koontz is a bestselling author of the suspense / thriller genre, the not-easy-to-put-down kind of read. The short reviews on the first few pages agree he has the skill to keep readers fixated - and readers like me will prolly prefer to sacrifice sleep just to pace with the story. But I'm not so worried about losing a few nights of shut-eye; I'm alarmed about something else.
I have not gone far into the chapters but I've found that he has accurately reflected my own autophobia in the heroine, Marty. Very eerily accurate:
... The paranoia that she can easily explain away logically but can't shake off emotionally.
... The sensed presences.
... The fear of seeing something in the periphery .
... The real way she doesn't want the non-real presences to know she senses them.
... The whispering voices in the tap water.
... The fear of looking in the mirror when alone because of the improbable possibility of seeing something menacing. The way she intentionally looked down into the sink to avoid seeing the mirror.
... The way she saw nothing new but saw something she did not recognize in her own reflection.
... The way random acts of violence kept flashing into her mind.
... How the sight of common household objects trigger creative uses for harm, suicide or murder
Dangit, Dean Koontz, you S.O.B; you really did your research.
On one end, it's comforting to know that my condition is typical - textbook autophobia common to many other individuals.
But with the way it fits my situation so congruently it will feed my own phobiae, paranoia and anxiety, especially now that I am depressed. And oh - the heroine's name is very similar to my own. And she also has a kind, understanding husband. And she is home alone like often am. They have a timid pet that she loves so much and talks to; we have timid pets that I love so much and talk to. The story is set in the rainy season. I see too many parallels. This clever chunk of literature is first-class fodder for my particular breed of neurosis, I should stop.
But the curious kitten that I am can't quite let go of reading it. It's too intriguing. Maybe I should deal with it the way I usually do when stuck in a double-bind: run it by the Hubby, hear what he has to say and let him put his foot down about it if he must.
