After therapy today I was looking for reassurance. I recently moved from NYC to the South West to give J and I another chance, the chance that we didn’t get before because of various things, mostly my behavior. Prior to moving here she was the only person I knew here. I’m sure if I re-activated my Facebook that might not be the case, but fuck that. Today, I still don’t know anyone here, due mostly to me being a hermit since my diagnosis. I do know my former colleagues, but I quit after only a few weeks so they’re not an option for my needed reassurance. Where else can I find out the answer to my question….Hmmm, I know…my fucking phone operating system assistant, Siri. I’m not one of those who talks to Siri to get a good laugh. I will admit though, I did ask her where to hide a body once and I think I may have told her goodnight once, ok maybe twice. And no I’m not a serial killer. Someone told me that Siri would give you directions to the nearest landfield if you asked her where to hide a body. Talk about not having anything better to do with your time than to figure out things to ask Siri. I didn’t believe it, so I tried it for myself and sure enough, Siri gave me fucking directions to a landfield. I hope that command setting has since been removed. Does that make your phone an accessory to murder if you do infact ask that question and go through with hiding a body?
So I hold down the home button on my iPhone and this is what I get:
Has this ever happened to you? I quite possibly could have asked her the most important question I’ve ever had for anyone, and she left me hanging. Fuck you, Siri. My phone goes a bit mad while walking as it desperately attempts to connect to random Xfinity wifi. Pardon me if I forget to deactivate the setting once I leave my apartment or truck – I have a lot of other shit to worry about right now.
I sometimes wonder what my therapist really thinks about me and her expectations of my recovery process. I pay her not to bullshit around with me but I sometimes wonder if she tells me what I want to hear as opposed to what I should hear. She often tells me that I’m her special patient. Whatever that means. It could only mean one of two things: Christopher, you’re really fucked up or Christopher, you’re really fucking fucked up. Right? At any rate, I truly do wonder if I’ll one day regain my functionality to society as she tells me I will. My previous therapist was great at listening, but he had an even better know-it-all attitude and particularly with telling me what my feelings meant. I fucking know what my feelings mean, I’m feeling them. I do thank him for exploring my concussion further and leading to the discover of my small non-cancerous brain tumor. My current therapist has really been the one who has really listened instead of prescribe me with enough drugs to keep me half sedated during the day and fully sedated it at night. Prior to her rendering care to me, it turns out I was prescribed anti-anxiety and anti-depressants when I shouldn’t have been. They can actually make someone with Bipolar have more problems than without. Weird, my diagnosis is Bipolar Disorder II (hypomania – depression) so why wouldn’t I need an anti-depressant. Well, if you don’t believe me, read some of these articles Bipolar and anti-anxiety medications Google search. Don’t have pity for me, really.
I’ll tell you another thing, this morning while having some coffee reading the local newspaper and getting my thoughts together for the book review, I saw a commercial advertising the newest Samsung refrigerator. It’s fully equipped with a touchscreen with wifi and a camera. You know, in case you go grocery shopping and forget what items you need, don’t worry…your refrigerator can snap a pic of the inside contents for you. Why in the fuck does a refrigerator need wifi or a camera? Are you going to stand at your refrigerator and browse the world wide web? C’mon…if we can have technological advancements of that capacity why the fuck can’t doctors get my medications correct? There’s no excuse for a doctor not knowing what medications you’re taking. Which brings me to my next question.
Do therapists attend therapy themselves? Listening to someones problems, especially someone you don’t care about in a loving family-friend-partner type of way, can be emotionally draining. They do this for forty, sometimes more, hours a week. I sure hope that their husband/wives meet them at the door with their beverage of choice on the daily. I imagine you have to be a bit mad, to treat someone who is mad? If you ask me…we’re all a little mad.
So back to the reassurance I needed today, do you want to know the question I asked, Siri?
When do you tell someone you have Bipolar?
That’s exactly what I asked my therapist today. It seems like a simple question, but really it’s quite complex and for each person it’s different. It came about after I told her about the book I reviewed It’s Okay to Laugh (Crying is Cool Too) and how a young lady extended an offer to buy me a coffee yesterday. She accidentally bumped into me and knocked all of my six books that I planned to purchase down to the floor (there was a sale 3 for $30). Once that happened, it made me nervous and I was stumbling over my words (not because I found her attractive – I hadn’t even looked at her at this point – moreso because in my head “fuck, I fucked up someone else’s day thought came into my head and I haven’t relearned how to be ok with things not going perfectly) but I did manage to mutter out, “excuse me, I’m sorry.” She looked at me, smiled and told me that she was sorry and that she had read one of the books I had in my hand, “My Grandmother Asked me to Tell you She’s Sorry” by Fredrik Backman. I think she could tell I was anxious, I hope she didn’t think it was because of her. It wasn’t. As I stated she asked me if she could buy me a cup of coffee for my troubles. Had she seen the coffee stains on my undershirt? I’m new to coffee, I have to find some way to stay awake during the day while on Latuda, and the stains are a telling sign that I haven’t mastered it yet. Actually I just happened to bump my elbow on the table while rising from my dining chair yesterday and splashed coffee on myself. I declined her offer. Later I had wondered why I had declined.
She was pretty, she likes books so obviously she is a good person. If you like books and animals then in my world, you’re a good person. No matter what small petty crimes or felonies you have committed, somewhere inside of you (maybe deep), you’re good and forgiven. Besides, people who love books and animals couldn’t really do something unforgivable, right?
I could’ve said yes, although I’m old fashioned and think men should pay for dates. Wait, was she asking me on a date? Technically she wasn’t, just coffee. Calm down, Christopher or patience young grasshopper, as only J can say. I miss that. By saying yes, we could’ve had a lot or a few sessions of mind numbing sex to ease our minds and my man parts. I do miss sex, a lot. However, truth be told…I’m just not that easy. Now don’t get me wrong, I do not confuse sex with love. Obviously, since it took me so long to find love, but I’ve just never joined the casual hook-up scene that has taken over. I’ve had a lot of sex, but just not as many partners as one would think in this current day and age of Tinder and the like. How did it go from her asking me for coffee to sex? Well, my immediate thought was that I knew I didn’t want anything from her and with no potential why waste our time? Time is important, the alternative costs of me saying yes would mean time she could’ve spent searching for someone who actually could grow to like her. That wasn’t me. Sex would be the only thing I could ever possibly get out of saying yes.
But I said no. I want to know why. Sure I could come up with a few reasons to decline her offer:
- I’m not ready
- I have old coffee stains on my shirt, clearly that’s a reason to say no
- I’m weird
- I hate phone calls, text me
- The bar is too high
- I have bipolar
But were any of these why? I went over each of these today with my therapist and she offered her opinion on each. She told me that I won’t be ready to date until I just do it. HAVE YOU NOT BEEN LISTENING TO ME TELL YOU ABOUT HOW DEVASTATED I AM OVER LOSING J THESE PAST FEW MONTHS? It happened just liked that, I had an outburst because it made me angry. I hate when I have outburst, I don’t mean anything towards the other person but sometimes I feel I’m not being heard and today was no different. Do not try to cheapen my love for J, ever. Again, I’m paying you and if you really listen, you’ll understand that this has been a traumatic event for me, mentally speaking. Then she further went down the list, and we got to number six. This is the one I’m conflicted over. It’s definitely something that someone needs to know if you’re trying to develop any sort of relationship with whether it be friendship or more than that. It would be unfair for them not to know that about you because there are going to be days when you let them down and then there will be days when everything goes perfect as planned and you can actually be a friend to them. So, why did I say no to the young lady in Barnes and Noble? My conclusion is a combination of all the above, with the exception of number two. Why am I paying a therapist when I just figured out the answer? Hmm, but the question remains…
do should you tell someone you have Bipolar?
Perhaps someone out there knows, clearly Siri doesn’t have an opinion. Maybe my oldest sister does, she just texted me something weird. I better go ahead and respond before she thinks I have offed myself. I hate that she always thinks that when I don’t respond .