One-way Mirror

I saw a new Psychiatrist yesterday in my quest to find a new doctor. One who might actually listen to me, rather than the misogynist prick I've been seeing for the last (almost) two years. Okay, so maybe I'm being a little unfair to the guy. Maybe I have been a little intimidated by him, being that I have always had something of 'White Coat Syndrome' and clam up when I see a doctor. Maybe its, as my husband suggested, he attended "The Bombay School of How to Dismiss and Ignore the Symptoms of Women with Mental Illness." Maybe its a cultural thing, given that he really is Indian and went to school in Bombay. Not exactly a culture sympathetic to women, plight afflicted or otherwise. I did start taking my husband to my appointments to help me communicate my symptoms and whatnot in the intervening periods between appointments. He definitely was more attentive to Mr. PolarBabe. Hmmm. Dr. Bombay, as I so affectionately call him, also seems quite medicated himself. Maybe its all these things together. Nevertheless, I'm transferring care to the new doctor, who happens to be a woman. She's also younger than me, (I'm still 30 something, although not for too many more...uh...days. She is probably into Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers, she's almost that young I think.) Mildly unnerving, but only because it reminds me that I'm not so young anymore. More than anything, its reassuring to me. She's not old enough to be tired of her job, not old enough to be jaded by we fruitcakes. She seems very eager to help, thorough, and clearly has a passion for what she is doing. I like this. She's a lot further away from me than Dr. Bombay, but she's in a very hip town and I like this too. Reminds me that I'm not quite so old. At least not yet, because I did see a couple of Kim Kardashian types walking down the street. Preening, vapid girls who grew up too privileged, think they are fabulous, talk way too loud, (I could hear their conversation across the street over the noise of traffic) and are famous for absolutely nothing. I don't think these types will help me feel un-old. Hmmm. Well, there are the trophy wives/moms with their souped up strollers to keep me feeling a little OK with myself.

Anyway...I had a conversation with Mr. PolarBabe this morning. I was telling him how Dr. Tween and I were discussing how I always have this paranoia that my former coworkers never like me no matter where I work. That I always feel like they talk behind my back, try to make me look bad, and maybe try to get me fired from work. She asked me if, in retrospect, I see that this is simply part of the psychotic behavior that goes along with my illness since I acknowledge that its paranoia. I told Mr. PolarBabe what I told Dr. Tween: I cannot measure this. I do not have a mental yardstick for it. I still feel like no one likes me; that they talk behind my back. Especially now! During my delusional episode last month, I actually called a coworker and asked her to come pick me up. When she couldn't, I asked her to call 911 for me. That's just too salacious not to talk about! "Shhhhh...Crazy Ass Polar Babe has jumped the shark!" I didn't tell Dr. Tween that part though because that's realistic. I do think those evil motherfuckers at work are going through all my shit while I'm out, looking for my mistakes, to get me fired right now though. I'm sure there's someone who wants my job. Someone called me at home to tell me someone said they knew I had a Facebook page. I bet its her.

Mr. PolarBabe said he couldn't imagine why anyone wouldn't like me. We've been together almost 11 years and he knows me better than anyone. He's never understood this idea. He said that I am such a vivacious, funny person, that our mutual friends love me dearly and think the same of me. Well of course they are fond of me! They're my fucking friends!!! How would he know all the people who hate me??? They're gonna come to our house and tell him? Cheese and fries! Anyway...he said he could never understand why I would have such a low opinion of myself, or why I would ever think that. I told him I didn't know if it was so much low self esteem. I tried to explain why I can't see it. I can't stand living in this head of mine. There is this constant din...a clanging that won't stop. I am always told I overthink things, overanalyze things--by those very same people who love me and think so "highly" of me. Its true. It drives me crazy. I know it exhausts them. It is this wall that separates me from everything...from the world. I can't see past it, how can anyone else see me behind it? I can only see it, so it only follows that they can only see it, too. I hate it. I HATE IT. It IS me. It is not just this thing, it is ME. I hate when people say I have Bipolar. No, that is not correct. I am Bipolar, you are Bipolar. So tell yourselves what you want, you idiots who think you have Bipolar. You ARE Bipolar too. It's just like being at an AA meeting. Hi, I am [insert your name here] and I AM a Bipolar. What is all that other stuff people see, you ask? That's the stuff...well that's the stuff...

PolarBabe