Today I spoke with my shrink for the first time since I tried to take my life.
The last time I saw her, she was sitting in a chair next to my bed in Acute, making that sucking face people make when they’ve stepped in something unpleasant. The look you give an errant child making foolish mistakes.
I wasn’t really in a hurry to see her again today.
Surprisingly, she seemed happy to see me, happy that I was pulling me head out of my ass for what seems to be the first time ever.
I mentioned my paranoia’s, my delusions, my fears that I’m going, slipping slowly into that abyss truly called crazy. She asked if I could talk my way out of them.
No worries then she told me. Call if they escalate again, if they fill your head beyond what you can control, beyond what you can say “fuck off” to. We’ll check your lithium. We’ll watch.
I’ve never felt so uncomfortable in my life explaining something in my head, trying to explain that sometimes I have the sneaking suspicion that I was born to save this world, or that the way cars are parked is some sort of sign that something bad is about to happen. Trying to explain that I believe everyone in my life is out to get me, and is secretly snickering behind my back, in on some grand plan I’m the end product of.
It was, in it’s own way, mortifying and relieving to finally say it all out loud to a doctor and not worry about being committed. To try and give myself a chance, to be the one asking for drugs instead of denying them. To say, clearly “I worry that this will only get worse.”
She looked almost motherly, and reminded me that I’ve been highly stressed lately, and everything I was talking about sounded like normal reactions, given my mental state and the situations, and that once things were calm, I’d be ok.
But, I said, those thoughts are always there, hovering, waiting for me to slip and let them in. It’s exhausting. It’s tiring, arguing with yourself.
But you can shake it off, and remind yourself it isn’t real, most of the time, right? she asked.
Then don’t worry. If you can still tell when you’re being paranoid, or delusional, and tell yourself that it’s a bunch of hooey, then like I said, you’re ok.
I went into her office thinking I’d need more drugs, that I’d need to call myself more nuts to get some help and peace of mind. I never anticipated how warm it would feel to have her tell me that everything was (relatively) normal and that I was doing fine, if not better. I never anticipated how good it would feel to own up to what I was really feeling, and try and move past it.
I was fully prepared to start taking more drugs, but really, I’m glad I’m just me after all. I find no glory in taking drugs every single day, no magic. My pills don’t make me normal-they make me better, stable, clearer. But even that I’ll take.
When I was talking to her, my doctor, we were talking about my hypo manias, my mania’s. As I described how I get (rapid fire speech, grand thoughts, hyper sexual, spendthrift, merging into rage, paranoia, fear) I stumbled over a phrase
“When I’m hypo-manic, it’s like I’m….glowing. Like the air around me is golden.”
What a gift it can be, sometimes, once in awhile. Feeling like you’re on fire, that the air around you IS magic for your touch, even if it’s just something made up in your mind-it makes you feel alive, and perfect and larger than everyone around.
It makes you feel, for awhile, special, lighting up the rooms around you,
It’s all bunk. But it’s delicious, enthralling bunk nonetheless.
Sometimes, I do indeed pulsate.