I think I'm paranoid; too complicated

Here we go again. I remember writing that the periods of my irrational, ridiculous, paranoid, childish insecurity are diminishing and becoming less frequent, and that is still true. But they aren't gone completely and it strikes me that I have entered my latest one tonight. I think that perhaps writing about how I feel will help me, because I will read it back and think "You're being such a dick! Stop it! Cease! Desist!" and then that'll happen. Possibly.

I trust Kat with my life. Implicitly and unconditionally. The part of my mind that remains rational during these insecure periods knows how much she loves me, how dedicated to me she is, how committed she is. Why then, you might (justifiably) say, does the insecurity raise its head in the first place? Believe me, I wish I knew. Then, perhaps, I might be able to fucking do something about it.

At least this time I know what's triggered it. A completely innocent party in all this, a friend of hers who goes by the name of Nikolai. By all accounts he's a lovely bloke, although I've never met him. From what I've heard he's also a gentleman. I don't attach any responsibility to him, let me make that clear.

Early on in our relationship, Nikolai hung out at Kat's apartment and the two of them polished off most of a bottle of whisky and as a result were understandably quite drunk. Nikolai is a good-looking bloke who doesn't really do commitment, and is used to getting his own way with the ladies. That night he expressed an interest in sex. Kat turned him down flat, as you would expect: "That's not going to happen; I'm seeing someone else." He accepted this. He made no further moves or tried his luck again. They shared Kat's bed - she has no spare room - and he brought her breakfast in bed in the morning. He left shortly afterwards. Nothing untoward in any of this. You can see what I mean when I describe him as a gentleman! Even under the affluence of incohol, he instantly accepted it when she said she wasn't interested and that was the end of it. If only all men (and women) had willpower and principles as strong as that. And he's there tonight, right now, and they're having a bottle of wine and watching TV, or listening to music and having a chat, just like friends do.

You're probably beginning to understand by now what I say when I use the adjective "irrational" when I refer to my insecurity. The story has nothing in it to raise any sort of reasonable objection. Sure, some people might object to their other halves sharing a bed with anyone of the opposite sex, no matter what the circumstances, but I am not one of those people. I don't purport to criticise those people or to consider my own opinion superior; their line in the sand is just in a different place to mine. Last Friday night, Kat shared a bed with her best friend, Uffe, who's a ridiculously good-looking Danish feller with whom I think I get on very well. I have no issues with either instance and I say that with utter conviction.

I think this shows that I am making progress. The me of even two years ago would have developed this sort of insecurity but might have actually paid attention to it, letting it sabotage my relationship or friendships with people and letting it actually cause damage. This version of me is determined that that will not happen. It is up to me and me alone to silence this side of my personality.

So, what form does it actually take? Well, mostly, it's the repetitive and insistent voice that wants to know "what if?"

What if Kat gets too drunk and he takes advantage of her? Worse than that, what if she is willingly engaging in all sorts of debauchery as I type these very words? What if she gets sufficiently frustrated of the distance between you that she makes a habit of this to stop herself getting bored? What if she realises, as a result of this, that she doesn't need you at all? At this point, the voice starts to sneer at me. It says, well, I'll tell you what: you'd be alone again. Your world would be a wreck. In all senses except the literal, your life would be over. The thought terrifies me to the extent that my insides seem to actually curl up on themselves. I have tried just not thinking about it, but it's like the elephant in the room. The more I try not to think about it, the more vivid the images my imagination helpfully contributes.

And yet, detached from this, is the normal part of my mind that in these instances just happens to have been shoved to one side. "What the fuck?!" it offers to the debate. "What kind of mind comes up with scenarios like that?! You're being the most ridiculous, pathetic excuse for an adult human being that you possibly could be at this moment. How dare you doubt a girl who has done nothing but improve your life since she entered it? How fucking dare you even imagine that a girl who has done nothing but love you would behave like that?!"

Crucially, I think, I know that it's that part of my mind that I have to listen to. Each time I go through this, the rational voice gets a little bit louder in relation to the paranoid one. I like this trend because it gives me hope that, one day, I won't ever have to listen to that awful, insistent insecurity again.

Relocation, relocation, relocation

I'm in Helsingør at the moment, enjoying a few days away from work and generally just chilling out. I absolutely love this place. It obviously helps that the weather's so gorgeous at the moment, oh, and the love of my life lives here. My opinion, I remember, was slightly less gushing when the windchill brought it down to -20 here in January/February. That said though, the more time I spend in Denmark the more I think that I could happily live here. There are a couple of minor problems with that idea though.

First, I don't speak Danish. I know that the local authorities here offer free Danish lessons to non-Danish citizens who settle in Denmark, and I know that the vast majority of Danish people speak English well enough to understand me. Neither of those things would help with the short-term necessity of finding a job, though. Who, in Denmark, is going to employ someone whose grasp of the native language involves ordering a beer and saying "thank you"? Kat seems to think there are English and Irish pubs in Copenhagen that almost insist on hiring native Brits & Irish to work there, the better to create a more authentic experience, but I'd still feel very uncomfortable if a local Dane, in their own country, walked into a pub and I had to ask them to order their ale in English. That wouldn't be quite right, I don't think.

Second, the assorted credit agreements that I am paying for monthly at home. I'm not sure (say) my car finance company would take too kindly to me closing my bank accounts and leaving the country. So that's at least another 18 months of paying those off, unless of course I win the lottery. I don't play the lottery, so I would file that under "unlikely".

Finally, would I really want to abandon a fairly solid career to start working in bars or coffee shops? Like any job I suppose, there are days where it's just a total pain in the backside but generally I do enjoy what I do. My parents' relief when I got this job and embarked on a Civil Service "career" was marked and if I said to them "yeah, I'm resigning from that and going to pull pints in Denmark", I suspect their reaction would not be one of enthusiasm. Yes, it's my life, but I've put my poor parents through a lot and I am not simply going to ignore their feelings and opinions. When you're sixteen you don't appreciate it, but on the whole parents do know best.

So there you have it. Three fairly hefty obstacles between me and a new life in this wonderful country and I know that for the forseeable future I am rooted to the north of England. However, I feel that the more time I spend here, the more the urge to relocate is going to grow.