There are four text messages sitting on my phone, unread.
They have been there since yesterday.
I don’t want to read them, and this is not unusual for me. This is an ongoing issue.
Ahh…fuck..another text just came through and I literally feel nervous butterflies bumping together inside of me. They flutter in my belly and rise up through my chest and hover at the bottom of my throat….trying to choke me.
I need to just pick up the goddamn phone and look at the text messages.
Another one came.
The text messages are making me feel angry. I don’t even know who the sender is, but I am mad at that person.
I know this is completely irrational and up until last night, I have not been able to discover a rational reason for my irrational fear.
Last night I got my answer and the weirdest part is how in holy hell did I miss this diagnosis?
I gave up on doctors and their diagnoses. I have been to several doctors and none of them have gotten it right. I never told them they were wrong, I just let them run with it. Anyway, it’s not like you can tell a person who has letters behind their name that they are wrong, especially if you don’t have letters behind your name. You ESPECIALLY can’t tell a person who has letters behind their name that they are wrong if you are their patient.
I suppose all of the misdiagnoses given by the plethora of physicians who were officiating “my care” is partly my fault, because I do tend to leave out key information when informing them of my history. But, in my defense, it’s part of my illness, and they are the ones with the goddamn letters behind their names charging me $80 – $150 an hour, yet only sparing ten or twenty minutes, monthly or bi-monthly, depending on the state of my mind, and charging me the full hourly rate.
THEY NEED TO FIGURE THAT SHIT OUT….IT’S THEIR FUCKING JOB.
The last time I saw a psychiatrist was late 2011. I ended our five-year “relationship” when he refused to refill my xanax and adderall, because I was honest with him about smoking pot. I had been prescribed the maximum daily dosage for each of the medicines for years and for him to refuse me my meds because I smoked weed was absolutely ridiculous. I’m not even going to go into the possible side-effects which could have occurred by the cold-turkey elimination of the xanax, alone.
MY GOD….WHAT AN ASSHOLE.
It wasn’t just that he took my medicine away from me, it was also that he was so….cold…about it. He didn’t care if I didn’t come back to see him, anymore. He had plenty of other patients to fill my empty spot.
I felt betrayed. It took me so long to trust him enough to even let him get a glimpse of the real me, and I found out he never gave a fuck about me.
But, that’s the jist of how all of my relationships end, and all of them really do end.
All of them, just like that.
I am relieved to know I am not bipolar. I never believed I was bipolar, it never felt right.
Now, can anyone guess my diagnosis?
So I’ve been sitting at my chair for a couple of days now, with great ambition and writer’s block.. I am pretty drunk and so I have decided that I am not going to break for paragraphs. Nope, I am going to ignore that voice in my head that says, “STOP, AFTER THAT PERIOD HIT ‘ENTER'”…and the logical side of my brain is going to defend that voice as much as it can until the more logical member of the logical side reminds the less logical member, “that it is not as if the paragraphs will be made at the correct place…so go and ahead and let the illogicals on the right side ramble…it’s very late at night, and it’s been a while since we have laughed, anyway. Take a break, grab some popcorn and enjoy their ramblings…actually sometimes they do say some pretty logical things, albeit in a very illogical fashion”. Sometimes, I like left brains logic. Like tonight, I like left brains logic. Usually, right brain has the dominion. However, it’s not a vast majority dominion. Unfortunately, my left brain controls more than a little bit…probably at least 40%. Thankfully, my left brain and my right brain are actually close friends, and tend to work together, especially on the hard thoughts. I get into most trouble when my right-brained psychic tendencies confuse left brains logic and make verbalization of a thought or an idea, an impossibility sometimes. Left brain helps me win arguments, especially via text. I am the current text fight champion…in my region.
My arms move freely yet still are bound
swaying; legs dancing duct tape tied ’round
ankles and feet, getting chaffed with the heat
of the fiction of the friction
…or is it the the friction of the fiction?
Are they coming for me
to stand against or stand
I can never tell, because of faces
at least two on each head in this land
Blending in yet standing out
The ring sparkles when the sun hits the snout.
….and I smell shit.
No matter how down I am, I can turn on Wiz, and my mood is instantly lifted.
Talk about creative visualization….Wiz is a MASTER at that shit.
I always complain about not knowing why I fight sleep, but I know exactly why I fight it.
The dead of night is the only time there’s no one else around….not really.