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Truths

What Do I Have To Prove?

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Hello Lovelies.

Why the fuck did I say that?

You’re all lovely, don’t even trip.

Tomorrow is that interview.

Surprisingly, I’m not nervous for it. Why? Because this anxiety is the normal “before interview” jitters. I can handle healthy anxiety, that’s a piece of cake.

5yqak3hcIt’s the “oh shit, I got the job and now I have to commit to something where I can’t predict every single move within the day” that makes me nervous. It’s the “oh shit, I have coworkers who will undoubtedly judge my appearance and capability from the moment I meet them (because everyone does it, don’t even lie)” and the “oh shit, I have to work and collaborate with these people.”

Mostly, it’s the “fuck, I have to adult again”.

I’ve adulted before. It fucking sucks.

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That feeds my addiction to my depression and anxiety and all the other fun, weird set backs my brain puts into place.

You know, like the times I pick up a cup from the cabinets and there’s some kind of white stain on it and the first thought that pops into my head is cyanide. So I have to get a different cup and I never touch that one again. Believe me, I remember it.

The fact that I can’t ever walk the same way twice down the apartment hill to my car. In the dark, particularly. There are always people waiting to stab me–at least that’s what it feels like–or coyotes ready to rip my arm off, which is completely relevant given there’s a pack of wild coyotes living behind one of the fences. We hear them howl all the time.

Honestly, sometimes all the Raccoons scare me more than anything. I might be able to make a loud noise and make myself appear bigger to a Coyote. I can run away from a stabber–you never know, he might trip over the horribly tall, concrete colored speed bump. But a raccoon? Naw, fuck that, straight up. They’re all suicidal, they don’t give a damn. They’ll charge you whether you have a sandwich in your hand or not.

I forgot what I was talking about again.

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Oh the weird habits. If I get a bad feeling I have to cut through the lobby and go down the stairs. Then on my way through the lobby I’m wondering “shit, what if that decision I made butterfly effected across the whole universe and now someone is going to get hit by a car, or I’m going to get hit by a plane in the next five seconds because of that decision?”, or “shit, what if that feeling was a diversion and the actual danger is the route I’m going right now?”

I don’t feel any better when I come out of the situation alive, either. It’s there festering, waiting until I come home and park and go through the whole process again. If it’s late at night I usually run up the hill and crash into the door. The faster I run the worse the feeling gets. Go figure.

The people in Ross were talking about me today, and laughing. I don’t know about what, but I was the only person in the store. It was 10:30pm. They started talking in Spanish first, but the closer they got to me the more they started speaking in English.

It’s sounds ridiculous but when I first heard them speaking Spanish I thought perhaps they were talking about how dumb it was to walk into a store a half hour before it closes, then I thought maybe they thought I was trying to steal something. They kept sending workers to go up and down the aisles by me. As soon as I thought “they’re speaking in Spanish so I won’t understand”, they started speaking in English.

Maybe people can read minds.

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Maybe I fly off the hinges at coincidences.

Maybe both are true and the world is an illusion.

Sometimes I think I was put here on Earth by whoever to go down a very specific path and I find signs to validate that belief. Deja Vu is one of them. You know, that feeling you get randomly, like you’ve done the very thing you’re doing currently, before? Some people have tried researching it and says its some kind of electrical overlap in the brain but hey . . . they were wrong about too little serotonin in social anxiety, weren’t they?

If you don’t know about the serotonin thing, it’s a pretty recently published finding. Google it. There are a lot more articles on it past the Finnish study I read.

When I think about something, and happen to see or hear about that thing a day later or whatever, that’s a sign I’m on the right path too. It means whatever layers of reality are out there in the universe have lined up for one specific moment just to link two of my thoughts together. That’s an honest belief. I’m not trying to sound like a loon.

What do I think I was put here for? I don’t know. But it’s something amazing, something world-changing. In high school I was convinced I would be the President of the U.S, but the signs were never there now that I think about it. Politics are too stressful anyway.

Then there’s my normal social anxiety. The “Oh God they’re staring at me, they hate me” or the “shit, what do I say now? I can’t hold a conversation”. And all the other ruminating thoughts that keep me awake and alert of my own existence at night.

There’s the fact that I’m an introvert.

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Then there’s my health anxiety. The “I’m going to have a heart attack or blot clot or stroke at any moment because I haven’t moved from my bed in the last few hours” or the “shit I got a cut, I got Ebola” or the “this butter knife was used in the butter and is still in the butter because it was meant for the butter but . . . how long has it been out here? What if someone put something on it? By accident? On purpose?

See! Deja Vu right now. I’ve written that line before, I know I have. But not this one. I’m telling you all the right things, that’s what it means.

Anyway, what if a fly landed on the knife or something? What if it laid some kind of infected larvae? Ebola. 

If I’m depressed, lying in my bed, hoping a plane will crash on the complex and kill me, I don’t have to think about trying to “better myself” in this world (whatever that means anymore), I don’t have to think about responsibility or life or people.

I never use my mental health to get out of things, not purposefully, not in a manipulative stand-point. I’ve only used it where applicable. It keeps me from doing things I want to do and it keeps me from doing things I don’t want to do. 

So, you know, 50/50 there.

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What I hate are people who make me feel I need to prove the problems I have. You know, the people who ride off how hard it is for me when I tell them, the people who don’t believe me or simply don’t give a shit and think I’m some moocher making up a thousand excuses just to hide from responsibility.

Well, getting this job will be a big poke in the eye and a kick in the groin to them. I am trying.

Will that help my mental health?

I don’t know. It might make it worse. It might make it better. It might do both.

I don’t have anything to prove. It’s going to be infinitely harder for me to work this job than it would be for my boyfriend to do it. It’ll be infinitely harder for me to work this job than it would be any of my “friends”.

I’m just using them as an example.

I know what’s hard for me. If they don’t believe me, that’s their problem. If they laugh when I tell them about the creepy people hiding in the shadows when I run up the hill then that’s their choice. Regardless, it’s still real for me in the moment.

If that’s funny than I’m missing the joke.

And I’m the fucking queen of bad jokes.

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About AlishiaDee (378 Articles)
Alishia D. is a blogger, a beginning novelist, and a counselor at 2nd Story Peer Respite house where diagnostic labels and the culture of mental health is long forgotten. She's a mental health peer who has bounced through as many labels as she has doctors, and enjoys being sarcastic when she can. She also hates writing in 3rd person.

9 Comments on What Do I Have To Prove?

  1. Good morning or should I say, morning…I just wanted u to know that I can empathize with the “realness” of the moment when your mind tells you shit and you can’t get it out of your head and what’s worse is you believe him and what he says…I use to have delusions about being molested by my parents and put into childhood slavery where I had to preform all these sick sexual acts with men starting around age 3 or 4…

    I couldn’t tell if it was a suppressed memory or delusion because it was so real. I could “remember” particular instances…for example I was about 5 and they would give us cold medicine to numb our brains to the pain and memory of what we were about to do but I “recall” one time giving head to a black man and then biting his dick and then getting beaten for that…

    I didn’t talk or write or visit my family for 3 months. I had to be put on 2 sz meds (seroquel and abilify) instead of just one for sz. After 3 months or so, the feelings and thoughts subsided, but now I still on occaission ask my brain, what made me come up with such horrific “memories”-did my drunk grandpa do something to me that I supressed? I always hated him for he was an ass…

    Anyways, I got to get ready to go to class…all for now, LaVancia

    Liked by 1 person

    • Now that sounds horrible, both as an imagined memory and if it actually happened in real life. It’s the fact that you can never know which is which that is really scary. I’m glad the feelings and thoughts subsided but it’s only natural to question all of that. Those are the types of things you’d rather be delusions. But that realness . . . it’s so intense and int he moment that you can’t rationalize anything else anyway. It makes you wonder what a proper definition for “real” even is.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes, it was traumatic to have those (memories)? or delusions in and of themselves. I already had a lot of paranoia and anxiety and when my mind wouldn’t shut up, I had a panic attack and my blood pressure got really high and the nurse had to give me some prn…what I find sad is I asked my mom if she had been molested by her drunk father, and she got so upset saying I believe you should forgive and forget…and had to take some “nerve pills”…that resulted in my dad commanding me that I “never bring the subject up again.” So I asked my mom’s younger brother and only sibling and he said he had never been molested but he also said the man was “crazy” and “likely to have done anything”. He has a daughter, my cousin, and funny thing is she started to abuse drugs and go down that path like I did…one day I’d like to ask her if something had happened to her…by our granddad. I’ve also thought of hypnosis, but am scared because even that may or may not be the truth…

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  2. I can relate on so many levels. The health anxiety, the social anxiety, the adulting, the cup with the cyanide stain. AHHHHHH! Today in 7 eleven I had to pour two coffees because my first one had something in it (probably grounds) but wasn’t convinced. And I can’t take the top lid because the top lid in the stack has all the germs. Ugh. Its tiring trying not to get a disease! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Exactly lol. It’s awkward when I go over to people’s houses and grab a cup or something out of their cabinets because I rinse out my cups always before I put something to drink in it, and people always stare and say “oh what, our dishes aren’t clean enough for you?” lol.

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  3. Oh, and I LOVE the sketch!!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Yes!! I do the SAME thing with cups! And silverware. And toilet seats. And if I walk away from a drink at a party for even one second… I throw it out and get a new one. Because it’s probably poisoned. Or someone spit in it. I think I’ve thrown away at least 100 full drinks. Lol

    Liked by 1 person

    • Finally! Someone gets it! lol! The drink thing at a party especially would creep me out too. And that’s logical nowadays with all the GHB druggings and stuff. I don’t do this much anymore, but whenever I bought bottled anything, I’d take off the cap and blow into it to make sure no one poked a needle hole in it and either poisoned it or put meth in it or something.

      Liked by 1 person

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