Your soul

I Have Been Going Insane, Because I Am Afraid of Going Insane

By December 2, 2015 0

I have a confession to make: I have not been living.

Yes my respiratory, nervous, and circulatory systems are fully functioning, but I have put myself in a mental and emotional prison ever since I had a “nervous breakdown” in January 2015. At the time I was working 3 jobs and completely overwhelmed myself, as I went into detail about in a previous post. After being treated and given anti-psychotics in such a short window I have been obsessively monitoring myself via the DSM-V Diagnostics Code to ensure that I am not mentally ill. For those of you who have the pleasure of laying in ignorance of that “code,” it is a manual which lists the the million and twelve symptoms and their associated mental illnesses. It is a manual for the “Crazies.”

Never in my life have I lived so fearfully.

I have always been an extroverted, fearless person. True story: after I was born, I was kicked out of the nursery in the hospital because I wouldn’t stop crying, and was brought into my mother’s hospital room to reside in infant isolation. In my defense, I was just trying to make conversation with the other babies.

Throughout my whole childhood I was a social butterfly that could never STFU. I received poor marks on my progress reports in school for distracting other students, culminating into the high school senior superlative for “most talkative.” Not only did I talk too much, but I also talked a mile minute. Picture the character in “The Cosby Show” who would talk extremely fast, much to the confusion of others.

When I was in the mental hospital, the doctors thought the antipsychotics were working because it got me to “talk slower.” My mother was flabbergasted after she explained that my father’s entire family spoke fast and that I have been that way since I was small child, speaking most quickly, when I’m nervous.

After being discharged, I researched the DSM-V codes and learned that the signs for bi-polar disorder are fast-talking and insomnia.

Check for both (thanks again, father’s side).

So now when I am in the mood to talk to someone all night, or stay up and write poems, or want to finish a book in two days, I stop and force myself to take three Benadryl, two Unisom, and drink chamomile tea to ensure that I sleep eight hours.

When I have energy or feel creative, I shut down the world around me in fear that I will fall in a downward spiral.

I try not becoming overly excited about things and make a conscious effort to speak less. I often have a hard time being out in public, or just carrying on a conversation.

When old friends and family tease, “Brittany doesn’t shut up” I no longer find it funny. I’m too sensitive. I can’t laugh at myself. I feel humorless, thoughtless, VAPID.

I have lost myself because of fear.

But this is all crazy. Being afraid of being crazy, in fact, has made me crazy. It is always great to be self-aware but recently I’ve come to the realization that there’s a healthy limit to that examination.

I need to calm down, because my obsession with the matter is a slippery slope for an OCD or PTSD diagnosis, or whatever other acronym that stupid manual carries.

So I am making it my priority to be “me” again, because as cliché as it sounds, it’s important to embrace who you are and live your truth, your experiences.

I have been silently suffering, to the the point of exhaustion, and so I’m turning the other corner.

I am relearning it is okay to laugh so hard to the point that I can’t breathe.

And to cry hysterically.

And to accept that if I have nightmares,

That’s okay too.

Because it’ s okay to go to work a little tired

Without worry that I may wake up in a psych ward.

I have to forgive myself for my imperfections,

And allow myself to reward myself for any successes.

I have to live.