Danny & Pork Chop Go Scandinavian Day 1: Stress Test

Stockholm, Sweden 

Once again I find myself awake in the middle of the night, my sleep schedule all over the place. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I get so exhausted at the most inconveniences of times and fall asleep during conversations or when I’m supposed to be working…that’s a large part of the reason why I only got 14 blogs done last month. I just don’t have the energy. I have no motivation or drive. I really just don’t care. The views on Mental Masturbation plummeted. I know I should be upset, working harder, putting out new material, working on things or even the new book I’m supposed to be working on, but I just can’t. I have a few ideas floating in my head, I can’t just get them out. I’m even less interested in sex and wanking, which hasn’t ever really happened before. Even the appeal of Chubbs stuffed into a pair of just about too small skinny jeans doesn’t get me going. The mental fog is stripping me of everything and I feel so powerless to stop it. 

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The physical pain brought on by my anxiety that past week was almost imaginable. Pain throughout my entire back, stomach cramps, nausea, and diarrhoea. Worst of all I’m a week clean, 9 days to be precise and I don’t feel any better. I think this was a shit thing to do. Why did I ever give up their beauty? They did manage to lessen the hideousness of the world that surrounds me. I can’t focus. I’ve slept hours now and I still can’t focus. There’s an emotional fatigue that’s consuming me. I’m glad that I’m sleeping, but I’m not so glad I had to come all this way to be able to sleep. Mysterious things. I guess it’s because I’m away from the usual turmoil that bogs me down and keeps my mind racing that I can slow down a bit and just breathe. I feel useless sitting here like an overgrown vegetable converting oxygen to carbon dioxide and sipping Diet Coke from a paper cup. The entire world feels miles away and it seems almost impossible to leave this room. I shouldn’t let my anxiety do this to me. Once again I’m emotionally cornholing myself, and this is even with medication to supposedly help it that my stomach is once again doing high bars and backflips on the balance beam. No wonder I have problems with digestion and malabsorption. It’s critical I get this under control. It can cause some of my issues to worsen, not to mention impair my ability to digest the meds that I take. Fuck me. Stress. Fucking stress. It’s going to kill me. That's the game, isn’t it? Which one kills me? The anxiety or the depression? I think the worst thing of it all is that it’s a waiting game. I hate waiting. I’m not big on the unknown. I’m a rather curious creature. 

I’m supposed to be here relaxing but my anxiety has been a constant travel companion. Even the simple act of ordering a takeaway has me on the edge of my seat. I need a new focus. I can’t let my social anxiety consume me. This is the first time I’ve been out of the house for a period other than a day at max since October. I’ve had no desire to leave. Actually, I’ve been afraid to leave. Simple little errands such as grocery, bank and before I quit, seeing Melfi doesn’t really count as going out now, do they? I don’t think so. I need to get out. The door is the scariest thing in the world. Just touch the handle, Daniel. It won’t hurt you. It won't Home Alone you. You know you want to leave. You know you have to leave. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let it pussywhip you.I feel the anxiety building up behind my eyeballs. I really hope they don’t pop out. That would not be a good look for me. 

This was supposed to be a relaxing holiday for me, but my anxiety is still eating away at me. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. Maybe it was just another grandiose idea of mine. After 45 minutes of arguing with myself, I'm outside, heading into the city to take in the sights. It was supposed to be cold today, so I semi-bundled up, but within a half hour of wandering through the streets, I'm toasty, almost too warm. With the velvet vocals of Papa Emeritus running through me I raise my camera and start shooting. It's overcast and grey, but I see winter periwinkle blue sky battling its way into view. I love the soft grey of the sky and how the minty green roofing of the Sofia church contrasts with it. The church's tower reaches skyward, a manifestation of man's ignorance and hypocrisy. I love it. After taking shots from several angles I move on, working on cityscapes, capturing images of still life all around the city. People don't seem to realise how big Stockholm is, just like they do with London. The cities stretch forever, so many lives entangled, so many things mingling and merging. Madness meets culture. Classics meets modern. 


I've got time to kill before my tattoo appointment at DaVinci Tattoo, so I continue through the streets, weaving in and out making my way to Katarina church. By the time I make it to the small graveyard that adorns the church grounds, the sky has erupted into an almost summer blue with pale white silvery vapour pretending to be clouds hover on the horizon. I take stills, some for social media and for some I might sell, adding another list of chores to my evergrowing list. I stand there for a minute taking in the sickeningly happy colour of the church and breathe easy for the first time in months. My body aches are gone. I feel calm and collected. I'm not in pain; the stress is pooling under my trainers as I stand transfixed breathing in history. I'm not looking forward to returning. It's technically my second day here, having arrived yesterday midday and I'm already reminded that I will have to return to a life I completely loathe. Trying to make changes when you're surrounded by the scum of the Earth is difficult, sometimes beyond challenging. As I gaze skyward, the desperation to be free fills me. It's sickening that I live like this. No wonder I'm in pain and I'm falling apart. It's childish to think anything will change when I return home. Maybe they'll all die when I'm away and I will finally be free. 

The streets are crowded with shoppers of all ages rushing past one another, carrying out their daily lives. I sit, silently, watching them. I wonder who they are, what their lives are like, what they do and why. Then I start to wonder if they are real people or if they are creations of my mind that only I can see; Like props for a film. How much of what we see is real? How do we know that any of us actually exist? How do we know any of this is actually happening? What if all of that we see is just in our heads? What if all these interactions and people are imagined? Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? This is why I didn't pursue a degree in philosophy. Why would anybody anyway? Philosophy is something that comes from within. Then again, a lot of things come from within, most of them not good. 

I don't want to waste too much time brooding, I have 40 minutes to make my way back up to the tattoo shop. I don't want to rush. I want to just linger, drink in this little break. My thoughts wander to Chubbs. I wonder what he's up to. I miss him, but part of me doesn't want to miss him. Something doesn't feel right. No, don't do this. Think about your tattoo. Think about going to the museums you're dying to go to tomorrow. It's art, dinosaur and torture day. What could be better? Well, me getting some goddamn answers from him for one. I argue with myself the entire way to the tattoo shop and am thankful when one of the artists shows up to let me in a few minutes early. 

FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS WITH THE TATTOO IN A TATTOO TALK THURSDAY EPISODE COMING SOON!