Paranoid

Timothy Whelan was a thirty something, unemployed and unmarried man. He lived with his mother in a council flat, and whenever he went out he always imagined everyone was staring at him.

‘They’re always watching me and judging. They despise me because of my looks and my background. Rich bitches out in town, superior men in suits, they’re all eyeing me and scoffing, saying ‘God look at him! What a fool he is, what stupid clothes he’s wearing, he’s got no fashion sense, he’s small, he’s got a big nose, he’s balding, he’s puny. Ha! What a freak!’ Motherfuckers! Think you can treat me like that! I’ll fucking kill the next person who stares at me. The fucking bastard! They’re such filth. They’ll deny they’re staring at you, if you ask them to their polished, goody-two-shoe, faces, pretend to be as nice as anything, with their veneer, their façade; but inwardly they’re looking at me and despising me. Motherfuckers!’

So did he rant. Either to his mother or the few friends he had, or more often simply to himself, talking heatedly and pacing up and down his room.

One evening he decided to go to the cinema. Though he hated going out by himself, he fancied seeing this film, and wanted to socialise. And who knows: he might meet a woman. So he set out to town.

No sooner had he left the house than he felt vulnerable, that his clothes were silly – his jeans too long, his jacket to big and baggy – and that people were eyeing him and saying ‘what’s he all dressed up for like that, like a total fool?’ He walked along thinking like this, his hands in his pockets, his body tense, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed, as was his want.

When he got to the cinema, and stood outside alone in the queue, he felt particularly vulnerable.

‘That bitch is staring at me. The fucking cow. I saw that look on her face. She despises me. The piece of shit!’

Eventually he was inside. The picture didn’t begin for fifteen minutes so he decided to go for a coffee. Now ordinarily, this sort of thing was usually an ordeal. He felt self-conscious sitting down and drinking alone, he wouldn’t know how the system of ordering the coffee worked. Did he have to carry a tray? Where should he pay? He didn’t know what a latte or an expresso was and what he should ask for. He felt people were watching him as he drank. It was always a nightmare. But he fancied a coffee, and quite unexpectedly, it all went well. He ordered without any fuss, simply asking for coffee, the girl serving it was pleasant to him, and he immediately found a seat. In fact the café was so deserted, he felt at ease as if no one were watching him, and he was able to secure a seat in the corner, so that he could sit there and look out on everything. He was really happy. Unusually things were going well.

A new found confidence was building in him. He sat drinking the coffee. Then another man approached the counter.

He was middle aged, with a beard and glasses and out alone. He looked nervous in his gait, his body language was awkward, he seemed unsure of himself, and obviously thought people were watching him. He didn’t know what the system of ordering coffee was and nervously approached the counter to order. Tim saw all this and couldn’t help staring at this new man. Subconsciously he thought:

‘Look at him would you! What a freak! With his silly beard and glasses, come here alone, what a nerd. He looks like such a fool, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s dithering, he’s asking what a café latte is, he’s making such a scene, when all he’s doing is ordering coffee and cake. The girl obviously thinks he’s a pratt. Now he’s walking around with his tray and he doesn’t know what to do and he thinks everyone is staring at him. That cake and coffee, that’s all he’s got to look forward to in life, the loser. Look how excited he is by the prospect of it. He can’t wait to tuck in. It’s a little treat for him. How sad! And look how he walks, he sort of hobbles. Jesus God what a freak!’

Tim was unable to stop himself staring at this new chap; scoffing at him and gratifying himself at seeing someone else in a position that he so often found himself in but which tonight, fortunately, for whatever reason, he had avoided.

As the new man dithered and looked around with his tray he caught site of Timothy staring at him. And he read in Timothy’s demeanour that he was being scoffed at. Angrily he stared back at Timothy as if to question his impudence. And after a short while Timothy looked elsewhere.

‘Damn that man!’ thought the new guy John. ‘He’s staring at me and I know it. And he knows it too. And yet he’s got the cheek to just look away indifferently, when I stare back at him, as if to say ‘you’re paranoid mate, I’m not staring at you, you’ve just got a complex. Get over it fool!’’

He was infuriated. He was certain that the man had been staring at him. Yet he knew also that he was self-conscious, and that he was dithering like a fool. People always said he was paranoid, whenever he complained that others were staring at him. He was also unmarried and lived alone, and had come here tonight with the idea of entertaining himself, and yet it had been a total mistake: he just felt lonely and isolated and there was no pleasure in it.

After the film finished, John was glad to go home, relieved to escape the cinema where he had sat alone and tense, wondering if the people behind him were staring at him, at the back of his head, and feeling foolish and vulnerable. It was good to escape that place, and he hobbled back home along the deserted night-streets. But he was unhappy at heart.

‘I feel like such a vulnerable fool and I should never have come, yet that man really angers me. He was staring at me and that’s a fact! And yet he has the cheek, when I question his impudence, to look away as if to say I’m the one with the problem, that I’m paranoid. I’m so angry.’

He was livid with the man. Not only had he scoffed at his person in general but he’d scowled at his crocked leg. He had been injured in an accident, so surely he deserved sympathy? Yet that man had simply looked down on him for it.

His mother, and the few friends that he had, though they liked him, always felt annoyed by his inability to socialise and be at ease, and whenever he complained to them that people naturally disliked him, had an inbuilt aversion to him, they always chided him and called him paranoid. And so as well as being angered he was confused. He felt bitter toward that man for having stared at him so contemptibly and having ruined his evening; and he was sure he had been mocking him; but then again, he wondered in fact, if he wasn’t just oversensitive and delusional, that he hadn’t just imagined tonight’s events; he wondered if he wasn’t simply paranoid.