I diagnosed myself with bipolar disease. Is it a disease or a syndrome? Or disorder? There’s definitely no order with being bipolar. Anyway, whatever it’s called, I’m sure I have it. I’m also a self-proclaimed hypochondriac, so there’s a chance I might be completely normal. Albeit a slight chance….
A hypochondriac who thinks she’s a hypochondriac is pretty darn special in my book. It’s like the snake who eats its own tail, the ouroboros effect. I’m a hypochondriac because I think I am.
When I’m in one of my low’s from my bipolar disorder, I don’t want to be around anyone. My world becomes small and volatile. I don’t want to look at people or acknowledge them. My friends tell me I need help, but at that point I don’t trust them and think they are just saying that to hurt me even more. I have severe trust issue’s when I’m in a low.
I can live for months at a time being in the low and fully functioning, but it’s when I hit the lowest of the low’s that makes me crazy.
Tormented people who are alone, are alone because they are tormented. They are tormented because they are alone. It’s the Ouroboros – the snake.
I have a guided meditation I use whenever I’m at a low point: The hardest thing to do is often the correct thing to do.
As for the poor lonesome tormented bastard, he can go on living his miserable existence with relative ease, but if he ever decides to open up his world, to make it a little bigger and let people in – not just one or two, but everyone that comes in contact with him, he will live a much richer life. Maybe have a chance at happiness. But who wants to be happy when they’re miserable?
Giving people a chance is the hardest thing.
When I was at my low point last year, I really didn’t want to start a relationship, but I did. Dave made my world a little bit bigger and brighter. As soon as I started feeling better, I broke up with him. Which makes me sort of a bitch, but hey……
So what’s my point? I don’t know. Whenever I feel fine (like today), I always think that my misery is over. No more low’s. But sure enough they always come back. I try to catch them before they do by blogging about it. Blogging is my psychiatrist.
I’m surprisingly resilient for putting up with all the shit that goes on in my head. I bounce right back unscathed, but isn’t that the definition of bipolar?
And I have an addictive personality. My addictions can also make my world smaller. My habits and thoughts become encased, putting me inside a capsule.
Ugh, I have to go back to work.
I had the worst client today. She came in 15 minutes late, goes to the bathroom and has herself a cup of water and asks me for a full body massage with extra time on the neck! When I finally get her on the table, it’s 5:25, 25 minutes after her scheduled time. I massage her back and her skin starts rubbing off. This happens when people don’t shower, or they had a recent sunburn. I silently but audibly utter “ewww” when I had to wipe my hands on the sheets. She may have heard me. Oh but there’s more; her perfume was the absolute worst smelling chemical crap I ever came across, and since she didn’t shower, she slathered it on. I was gagging, I couldn’t breath and felt like I was suffocating. I wanted to cough, but I knew if I did, a dry heave would hurl out of me, so instead while I was massaging her toe with one hand, I held my shirt over my nose and mouth and taken a couple deep breaths while clearing my throat. Then her phone starts ringing, she looks up at me and says, “I think I should answer that just in case it’s an emergency.”
“Oh yeah that’s fine.” I think she saw me covering my mouth with my shirt. I get her phone for her and she starts texting for five minutes, listens to her voicmail and makes a call. She’s loudly chattering away. The guy on the other end hung up on her.
“Poor communication I guess.”
Me – “Yeah……..”
I run out of the room after the massage to breath. I could still smell it. I still smell it right now! It’s on my hands even after a thick lather, rinse and purell.
All I wanted to do was get here to starbucks, but she taken 10 minutes to get out of the room! I had to knock on the door. I waited there like an idiot with her water in my hand. She said she dozed off and started giggling.
Now I have to get back, I can’t even revise what I wrote, but I’m going to publish it anyway. I’m freaking late.