Hurtful Statement

I slept all day again. I was supposed to talk to my proctor about taking my exam on Monday. I still haven't. I should do that tommorow. I only have thurs left this week that I can do it.

I went and saw my shrink yesterday. He had a training psychiatry student with him. He asked if it was ok. I had decided to confide in him how I was really feeling instead of my usual lie. “Everything is going great. Just perfect.” I told him I didn’t mind. I don’t know why I care what they think anyways. It just still hurts to tell the truth. I think that I feel that maybe if I don’t put it into words it really isn’t happening. Crazy huh? Meh… who cares!

Anyways he starts rambling on with a recap of my visits; I think this was for her benefit. When he finally asked how I was doing, I pulled the list from my pocket, as I told him not well. I started reading of the list like it was a to-do-list, stopping on occasion to elaborate. They both started jotting down notes on their little pads. I don’t know why this aggravates me. It almost seems an invasion of my thoughts and privacy. Stupid huh?

He has been my Dr for close to a year and I have never really talked to him. I usually only see him once every 3 months or so and so far that’s really just to get my scripts filled and modified. That sucks also – my meds always change. I am never stable to the point of normalcy and continuity in doses and medications. That sucks because you never feel like your getting better, plus I always have to fear that the change will make me unstable and I will erupt and lose my sucky job. Anyways the only real notes he has on me are from my previous Dr who was his colleague. Plus, the fact that I’ve never really told him much, other than current issues that I needed to reveal for med changes. He just seems cold and clueless to my problems. It’s really my fault I guess.

Anyways while he was talking to me he said twice in our discussions, “if it is bipolar…” I let the comment go the first time, but the second time it irked the shit out of me. I asked him if he was saying that he didn’t think I was bipolar. He started stammering a little. And said no that that wasn’t it. I asked again, “Do you think I’m bipolar?” He said in his opinion that he thought that I was. It kinda hurt. I have been obsessed about that statement for 2 days now. I have run the scenario over and over. I talked about it so much on the way home that my wife got pissed. I said that maybe I’m just a dumbass. Maybe it’s all in my head. I said maybe my obsessions were normal. Maybe me sleeping for 4 months straight during the winter before going to the Dr was normal. Maybe me feeling high with emotions, thoughts and feelings, like I could create anything I wanted was normal. Maybe not being able to sleep but for brief periods because the thoughts just want stop; scenarios running through my mind like a raging river. Paranoia. Indignation. Procrastination. How about my shopping sprees, where everything was an impulse buy, with great plans for everything I put in the cart. How about my need to write or play poker or read or play mood music perpetually to fantasize to escape this plane of reality.

Maybe I should just stop taking the meds and I would be better I said. My wife said that she would leave and that she would never live with me evil mike again. That her and the kids had put up with it for too many years before my diagnoses and henceforth treatment. She said let him try to live with me.

She thinks that he was teaching his intern. Like saying, “If it’s bipolar, you should blank?” And then answer his own question about what to do with my meds. I think maybe she is right. It makes sense. But I kept thinking that maybe he doesn’t think that I’m bipolar; that I’ve been his patient for a while and never have had any real bad episodes. That I have held a job for 12 years. That I’ve also managed to stay married for 14 years. That I am not a drunk. That I haven’t done drugs since I was a teen. That I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 30. That most bipolar people aren't stable enough to maintain a life. That I should have just given up long ago and filed for Social Security. What, does he think I originally swallowed my pride and embarrassment a went to a Shrink, thus admitting that me, a man, was unstable, and wanted to be medicated just to do it. That I am psychotic and just love to treat people like shit. That I love to mentally abuse the ones I love. Is that what he fucking thinks? Maybe he doubts me. He said that he didn’t. But just to make that comment stuck with me. I still can’t believe he said it. It rocked my world.

Anyways, it fucking hurt, you dickshit.