Having lived on both sides of the fence…yes, it takes much strength to look inward and see and recognize and admit failures and shortcomings, and also to begin the process (and it IS a PROCESS) of the cessation of lying…oh my God, it’s so hard, but having learned how to do it to the degree that it really is second nature now, I observe those around me and reflect back to my former self and shrink in terror at the thought of how hard that way of life is, too. I think it is equally hard to be a consummate liar and avoider of truth, both to others and yourself…..there’s so much to remember…..I have been brilliant at both but I think life is easier when it is built on truth….it reduces a bit of the worry.
Now that I think of it…I suppose all of my videos are humorous commentaries of my Iental millness.
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?
This is great and I totally agree, even though I am very guilty of these things sometimes. Thank you, Glen, I love your blog!