Ever since forever I have always been obsessed with the truth.
The truth about me (“who am I, really?”), the truth about what I felt and thought (“please, god, just let me know what I really feel and think about this or that”), the truth about my behaviour (“why do I do that? Why!?”) and the truth of other people’s feelings for me and mine for them.
I also wanted to know the truth about where I stood as regards society (Am I an anarchist, a liberal, a lefty, a conservative???) and personal wishes (I want to live in a commune/no I want to live in a luxury house/I want a cottage/I want a farm/I want a hut on the mountains) so that I could finally work towards them! To give me the idea I had some sort of control over my life.
The truth is, I have no control over my life. I never did. I was always reacting to stuff that happened to me, or that my outbursts in reaction to something would cause to happen. Sometimes big (up and leave), sometimes small (send countless CVs as a personal assistant for a week, and deep down believe that’s my calling, too!).
It now starts to feel like it was all a lie. A lie to myself. A well-meaning lie to others.
Every and all opinions expressed at any point, at any time, to any one, all a lie. Oh they were absolutely true when I expressed them, but test me and most of the time I won’t even remember why or when I said what I said.
And that’s not counting the times someone would tell me of something quite big and meaningful that I did, sometimes for quite some time, and I have absolutely no memory of it. If they describe it for long enough, a distant flicker of a light turns on and I slowly say “oohhhhh yeeeaahhhhh I remember!”, and sometimes it’s true, and sometimes it’s such a vague memory that I can hardly believe it was me, and yet that something made such an impression on that person, it may even have defined me in his or her memory… and I had no memory of it. Usually, fortunately, it is a good memory they have. Usually the bad stuff I never shared with anybody or I did all by myself, with people nobody will ever meet. So I smile and think wow, it’s cool that you remember that about me. (I wish I did too).
I got into a self-righteous frenzy last night. Well maybe it wasn’t that bad, but my husband got upset because I was raising my voice and interrupting him, my son struggled to keep me level and reasonable. We managed, and in the end, I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was in particular that my husband had said that upset me so. We were talking about education, and homework, something stupid. It may have been his comment (the last I remember) about how people who had difficulty at school should just accept school is a part of life and “suck it up”. Maybe it was that hated expression that set me off. I don’t know. But the point was, I want to be an advocate for abolishing stigmas about mental health? How. Hah. I can’t even remember what I get delirious and angry and riled up about. I have no constancy, no common thread inside my head. I can’t make any decision about anything I want to do that will stick more than two hours, two days, a few months if lucky. And to see that face, the face everyone has always made, when I got out of control and ranted and they wondered how to calm me down, and they got exasperated because they couldn’t explain, and they were right and I was just irrational..
I don’t want to see those faces anymore. I don’t want to fight. From this neutral point of view I can see when I’m talking reasonably and when I’m not. But when I’m in it, the unreasonable rant, I don’t. I’m not being unreasonable as far as I feel in that moment. I feel righteous.
So I think well, the dreaded psych. eval. with arrive, and they will diagnose me, and then at least I’ll know what terms to use. I can say, hey, other people with (insert diagnosis here), this has worked for me, wanna try it?
But the truth … the truth is I think the only way I went through all the stuff I did and had done to me is by forgetting about it. My brain kept getting too distracted to focus on all the things at once, so I’d just move on, and keep on going, and rely on my manias or hypomanias (I think I like calling them hippomanias) to make me feel proud, health, strong, with some ideas of my own.
I am dreading to see what will happen to me when that Tower crumbles in all its chaos, revealing its ugly truths not in snippets that I deliberately avoid here and there, but in all its majestic lumpness. A small part of me hopes it will be too much and I will just go catatonic and farewell to all. A part of me says don’t worry, you’ll always be who you are, you’ll be fine, you’ll just have more tools to battle your stuff when it gets out of control. A small part of me still says all this is bullshit, forget everything that happened it was never that bad you’re making it so much worse than it is, you’re FINE and as soon as the little one is grown up you can go back to apply for jobs as Mr Big Guy or Ms Cool Lady’s PA. A part of me, as always, just waits for everything to reveal itself to be a stupid dream, where the nightmare is everything is dandy around you and YOU are the nightmare.
The truth is now outsiders are involved. Something I have avoided all my life. Outsiders that will either help me, or condemn me. They will either dismiss me or diagnose me and then it will all be real.
And the truth is, every day, I can’t think of anything else.