Member-only story
Call me the neurosis nerd.
Not to humble brag, but I’m an avid collector of neurosis.
Or neuroses I should say.
Depression, anxiety, borderline, bipolar, cPTSD, schizoaffective, ADD, psychosis?
Yes.
Not to get into the nitty gritty of the different versions of each of my diagnoses, but none of them were close to being mild.
Yes, in case you were wondering, I’m bipolar 1.
Oh, I forgot; that’s right, my self-diagnosed OCD…I thought I was missing something.
And I don’t mean to minimize anyone’s mental health experience.
That’s my psychiatrist’s job.
My nightly dose of medications looks like a handful of rainbow skittles.
But instead of a sugar rush, I receive a sedating rut.
Kinda sucks.
And that’s just the mental health part, who for some reason enjoys making collabs and remixes with my behavorial problems.
Those two are super codependent, and I’ve been suggesting for the longest time that they break up with each other and end their toxic relationship.
But it’s the only time I can poetically think of myself as an excellent team player, using more than ten percent of my brain for complex activities such as abusing substances or committing crimes.
