Prelude to a Post 2

I currently look just like the guy on the end, except that the package area is slightly larger. LOL.

I am carrying all my fat in my gut, with slight man-boobs going on.

ASSHOLES

I was reading Amber's blog and her last post brought up sometime that I am currently stewing over. I didn't even realize exactly how made I was until I read her post. This is exactly what my T-doc was talking about: catastrophic thinking. I have unconsciously been ruminating about this and if I would have continued without realizing, I would likely have snapped. I can now hopeful bitch them out nice and calm like.

A couple of friends went smelt dipping last week. (Netting small fish for frying, at night with flashlights.) I acted interested as they told of their exploits. They said stated that they were going again on Sat night and invited me to go. They also said that I should bring my son; that he would have a good time. Did I mention that THEY invited US. We did a lot of prep work to get ready. It was all my son talked about. I had to buy a license. I had to borrow waders for Ash-boy. I bought batteries for the flashlights and headlamps. Sat we wait and wait. It gets dark. We wait. 10pm comes and I call. No answer at Van Horn's house. I then ring Smity's cell. I get some BS about Van Horn backing out and hr prior and being P-whipped. Sadly he is quite P-whipped. He always gets with chicks that control him. He has such a low personal self-image, but that isn't really any of my business, although I throw it in his face and call him a punk as often as I can. Just as I will the next time I see his no-commitment-keeping-ass. I sardonically jabbed that I really appreciated the call so we didn’t wait around all fucking night for someone to come and actually live up the promise to my son. I hung-up. I will have to contain myself when I go back to work. It will be hard because I already want to smack them around verbally. ASSHOLES.

Prelude to a Post

BMI calculator for those too lazy to manually compute.

I PASSED

I aced the exam. I procrastinated and second-guessed myself for over 2 months. I don’t know why I do that to myself. I think likely that it is worry of failure. More like sheer dread of failure. I am now happy. On too my first course of the second semester: Personal Finance. Now that’s funny. Bipolar guy + proper management of one’s personal finance. I think I will let Ash-wife continue to pay the bills for now. LOL.

Later, Ash out…

T-Doc and Homework

Another reason that I know I was manic on Weds was because of what happened while at the T-doc’s. I talked way too much. I wouldn’t say that I’m usually succinct to her probing questions. But today if she asked an open-ended question I was all over it, branching off into other similar topics and my personal analysis and views on the topics. Her pen was a blur on the page. I was babbling. She knew I was manic. Oh yea, funny thing that happened. I do think I might have pissed her off. If I did, she covered it well. But I know how it pisses me off someone does it to me. Anyway, while she was on a drawn-out diagnosis of one of my mental inadequacies, I get this shit-eating grin on my face. You know the kind. Where it is obvious that you think something is hilarious and are holding back. She stops what she was saying. She says, “do tell what you are thinking right now.” I say, “I don’t know,” yet it makes me smile even more. To my defense, I honestly didn’t know why I was smiling. She says in a nonchalant, non-pissed-off way, like she was actually curious, “no really, I’d like to know what you are smiling about.” I start laughing and say, “me also.” She bored of the verbal tit-for-tat and went back to her analysis of ineptitudes. About 10 mins later we go through the same conversation again because a smile snuck through my earnest attentive façade.

I tell you what, I have a guy that works for me that does that shit, and a few times when I was in a irritable frame of mind, I snapped on him. If I remember right, it went something like, “what the fuck’s so funny?” followed up with a quick, “what the fuck you smiling for then?” I am working on it guys so bear with me. These outbursts are few and far between for a while now. But I’m medicated now and also more atoned and cognizant of my moods and actions.

I told her of my quest to solve this thing and that I have begun schooling in psychology. Of course my analytical mind thinks that there has to be a finite solution to this illness. Actually there is, but neuroscientists and geneticists haven’t yet pinpointed it. Maybe in my lifetime, yet if not, definitely in my children’s lifetime. OK, I digress, back to the paragraph’s topic. I think sometimes that it irks them a little that I’m studying their craft. Like I might be second-guessing their diagnoses. They seem to calm down on the superfluous psychobabble a little bit, as if I might say BS or something. Maybe it’s just my insecurities. That’s more likely. It’s just that quick look in their eyes when you first say it.

Another thing that we decided about me is that I feel that I’m intellectually superior than most people. I agree with her. Not that I am per se, but that mentally I feel that way. She says that it is part of my disorder. I told her that I know that it is irrational and that ultimately I know that I’m not brighter than everyone around me. But I do at times just seethe at peoples’ incompetence. I can’t help it. We discussed that everyone is better at certain things than the next person. Everyone has their attributes and that I must learn to humble myself somewhat. This will be hard for me; my opinions just seem so right. LOL. She told me if I get to lofty about myself to remember that I’m bipolar and most people are normal. Damn, she slapped me down. I can handle it; I’m a big boy. I have a lot of different things to work on. Time to delve in.

She game me homework. I already have enough on my plate, but I guess healing has a cost. So I must put in some effort. BOoo. She said that what I will be working on is, catastrophic thinking, cognitive restructuring, and what if – self talk. She gave me a course book with a couple of post-its in it. One is an exercise – the daily record of dysfunctional thinking. I hate charting shit, especially personal feelings and shit. This will be tedious at best. The other one is a chapter on visualization. What the hell do these 2 chapters have to do with the 3 things I am supposed to be learning about. I have to go back on Mon so I need to invest a little time with this book. As I learn every week, I plan on commenting and analyzing my treatment and posting here. Hopefully we all can learn from my P-doc.

Lastly – does anyone else feel raped and dirty after a therapy session? I’ve only had 2 and I already feel stripped and naked after I leave. I feel like I divulged some deep dark secrets that I usually hide in the dark corners of my psyche. She knows how to pry loose things that I don’t even think about and never really realized how they actually affected me. I don’t know if I like this. I know that it is part of the healing process, but this is my personal info. My dad has already been blamed for some of my social and relations foibles. Makes me wonder how much I’ve fucked up my kids. Hopefully I have time to counteract some of the negative traits that they have learned by environment osmosis.

Lately I've Been on the Up's

I’ve had a good week guys. I truly did. The family came home. I was on vacation from work. I think sometimes life can trigger your moods. I had very little stress = I am happy. I have nothing to stew over. I slept well also. All that combined to make Ash a happy camper. Oh yea, also I only have 1 day of LSS sponsor training and 1 night to work this week. I took the last 2 days off. That equates to 6 days off again and 6 total days at work this month.

Today I felt real good. I honestly think I am a bit manic at the moment. I mentioned as much to Ash-wife and she kind of got curt with me and stated, “Can’t you just be happy?” She thinks that I like to blame my illness for things sometimes. The reason that I said that I thought that I was manic was due more to the increased thoughts that were plaguing my brain. I keep getting sidetracked with the random thoughts that keep popping in. But I didn’t tell her that. Just let her keep thinking she knows what’s going on in my head.

Here’s another reason that I know I’m manic. It felt like the car was barely moving. I kept looking down and finding myself speeding. I kept doing this the whole way to my therapist’s office. I would try to watch my speed and then go on autopilot while some stray thought took over. The problem was that autopilot thought he was in a jet. I actually put the car on cruise on a street that the speed limit was 40mph. I then commenced to zone-out and when I looked down I noticed that I had pushed down the gas pedal even though I was on cruise. I was doing 60. Well, it caught up with me on the ride home. I decided to surprise Ash-wife with an extra value meal from McDonald’s. As I was going home, I was laughing and talking to myself, mimicking my therapist’s facial expressions and gesticulations. I look up and there’s a cop coming. I look down and I running 70mph. I slow down and watch as he does a U-ey. I surreptitiously watched in the rearview like if I didn’t move much he might just zoom around me on his way to a murder or something. But no, he flips on the dome and I turn on the blinker and pull over to the curb. I think to myself if God is testing me today. I feel like Lieutenant Dan from Forest Gump up in the crow’s nest in the storm. “Is that all you got!”

Side note: I think I’ve figured out why they take so long behind you before they finally pull you over. No not an obvious reason like running your plates so they know to call backup or not. No, it’s to make you sit there and suffer while you are thinking up excuses and just hoping he won’t pull you over. It’s all about the suspense and delivery baby. Assholes.

He walks up to the car and asks the standard, if I knew how fast I was going. I lie and say no. He throws back at me 70 in a 55. I put on my best puppy-dog eyes, but he couldn’t see them due to my shades. He asks how my driving record is. I tell him crystal – just perfectly clear. Then I add in. “I’m not a speeder sir. Well, I guess I am today, but I don’t normally speed sir. (I thought about telling him that I was trying to get these fries home before they got cold, and that he was currently fuckin’ up that plan. But I restrained myself. Hey, maybe I wasn’t too manic today anyways.) Standard license, registration, and proof of insurance BS. I have to tell him that I was in the wife’s car and that my wallet was actually in my vehicle. I then rummage around in the glovebox. I find the registration quickly, but all I find after much duress is an out-of-date proof of insurance. So he heads back to his squad car as I stew about Ash-wife’s upcoming bitch-session. I know their will be a lot of blame and paying the bills talk, over and over and over till the point that I get pissed-off. I just know this will be another test of my control of my anger. While I’m still beating myself up for my stupidity he comes back. He says that he waived my speeding ticket and my license issue. I think my jaw dropped because he paused. Maybe it was just for effect. He then tells me that he only cited me for the no proof of insurance and that I had 10 days to show proof at the court house and that I’ll likely get a $10 fine or something like that. I thanked him profusely. Drama extinguished, I went home with our cold fries to tell of my/our good fortune. Damn I dodged a bullet there. I would say good Karma, but I was speeding because I was dogging my therapist’s foibles. I’m such a dick. LOL.

I only got angry once this week. The wife and I got in an argument over something that we both disagreed strongly over. I removed myself from the situation after only arguing a little. I felt myself heating up, wanting to start yelling, so I told her I was stepping out for a few, and the boy and I went to the movie store and took our time finding a few movies. I calmed down very quick. I made a few, “your mom drives me nuts sometimes,” comments and then I let it go. I got home and didn’t even bring it up. I didn’t have to “win” like I usually feel the need to do. A character flaw on my part I realize, but it is a hard one to work on. So I am proud of that small step toward not being an overbearing asshole.

Later, Ash out…

Funny Story - At Least to Me

Butterfly wrote a post about those spring-loaded pens and some peoples’ annoying habit of constantly clicky-clacking them. That reminded me of a story when I first started out in my supervisor role. I was a Relief Sup at the time and I was hiring a small group of individuals that I would have to work with on a daily basis. And yes I try to not be aloof and critical as I’m judging candidates. I just pick the best person for the job to the best of my abilities. Sound defensive? Good, because I am.

I was an interviewer at my company doing an entry position interview and the interviewee was doing that incessant pen click. He actually held up this pen right in front of his crest above his lap and clicked his pen loudly for the whole interview that lasted around 20 min or so. It was obviously a nervous tick. But man was in driving me nuts.

And speaking of nuts, he was I think, I could actually see it in his eyes. As the interviewing group was progressing and questions are being asked, his application was being passed around. It was passed to me by the other Relief Sup and he gave me a weird look and I started reading it. I am a very immature guy humor wise. Plus I was likely 25 or 26 at the time. (The other Relief is my good friend and we can’t look at each other at times when we both find something funny.) Anyways I was already kind of laughing at this guy’s unstable demeanor and odd answers to the queries. I get to the question that reads – Have you been ever been convicted of a felony in the past 5 years? (This guy wrote – yes. I was convicted of felonious assault with intent to do bodily harm with a pair of scissors. I just got out of prison.) I think a quick cutoff giggle popped out. I could see answering the fucking question, but why add-in the scissors part and the just getting out part. All of a sudden his red-headed dude’s pen-clicking started looking a little menacing, yet I couldn’t stop wanting to laugh. I look over at my friend and we both had to turn away from each others’ gazes or we would have busted out laughing. A few times after that I had to put his application up in front of my face because I had a huge wanting-to-laugh smile on my face. I know it was unprofessional, but I’m telling you I just couldn’t stop myself. I straighten myself mentally for a sec and start reading again. It comes to my turn to ask a question. (Everyone is asked the same exact questions to keep cohesion amongst participants.)

“What if you were on the Finish End and noticed your Supervisor was not wearing his earplugs. This was the very loud place that you walked through on your tour. What would you do?”

This dude says, “I would go up to him and forcefully suggest that he put in his earplugs.” My clipboard goes up in front of my face again, up to my eyeballs, my hyper-smile hidden from him. I didn’t want to piss-off this red-headed firecracker. (All I can image is this dude coming up to me and putting scissors to my neck and saying, “I would highly suggest that you place your hearing protection in your ears. It is for your own safety. Hurry up mother fucker. I will rape you in your ass. Hurry up.” I know, I’m retarded. I am so immature. I truly can’t help myself.)

I straightened up again and lowered the clipboard. I start reading his app again. It gets to references. He only had one and where it asked for contact info, he wrote deceased. I lose it again and up goes the clipboard again to my eyeballs and my body shook with uncontrollable silent laughter. Who the fuck would give a dead man as a reference? What? Do we have to have a fucking séance to talk to his reference? (I go right back to my mental imagery – him holding scissors up to some old man’s neck and telling him to write the letter. “Hurry up motherfucker, I will rape you in your ass.” And then at the end of the letter the last word scrawls off down the page as he dies. I have a very morbid sense of humor, I know.) It was obvious that this guy wasn’t right. Good thing that the session ended right about then because I never lowered my clipboard again. I shook this guy’s hand reaching over the table as I held my clipboard up with my other hand.

I got reprimanded pretty sternly. My friend and I were not allowed to ever interview at the same time again. But looking back, it was worth the memory.