Paranoia

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, fear, imagination, low self esteem, mental illness, obsessive compulsive, Paranoid personality disorder, psychiatry, psychology, trust

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“…telling an alcoholic to control his drinking is like telling a guy suffering the world’s most cataclysmic case of diarrhea to control his shitting.” ~ Steven King

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“Paranoid personality disorder (PPD) is a mental disorder characterized by paranoia and a pervasive, long-standing suspiciousness and generalized mistrust of others. Individuals with this personality disorder may be hypersensitive, easily feel slighted, and habitually relate to the world by vigilant scanning of the environment for clues or suggestions that may validate their fears or biases. Paranoid individuals are eager observers. They think they are in danger and look for signs and threats of that danger, potentially not appreciating other evidence.[1]”   ~ Wikipedia

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Somebody said to me, “…you feel the need to place yourself at the center of every word so that every hurt seems aimed at you.” This poem is meant to answer this concern.

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I don’t trust people.
There are medical reasons:
bipolar, obsessive compulsive
and paranoid personality disorders.
I take medication for them,
and practise daily
meditation.

I do irrational things;
even while I’m doing them
I know they’re irrational —
I do them anyway.
I can’t help it.

Usually, I live
a relatively sane existence;
then a trigger goes off
Bam!
Somebody’s talking
behind my back.
Somebody’s writing about me
for all the world to see.

Sleepless nights
rereading
what did he/she mean by that?
more sleepless nights
more rereading
more anxiety.
Why,
are they doing this to me?

What do I do?
There may be other explanations.
There are other people in the world
that may act the way I do,
say the things I say,
fit my description…
But, all of this,
all at once;
impossible.

So I ask,
“Are you writing about me?”
They say, “I sometimes write about people,
but not about you.”
Problem solved —
or is it?
They write about people —
I’m people…
more sleepless nights,
more rereading,
more anxiety.

I don’t trust people.
I’m not acting rational.
I’m not rational.
I know, I’m not rational.
I’m acting paranoid.
I am paranoid.
I know, I’m paranoid.
I should control my paranoia.
I should control my shitting.

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Welcoming the End

Tags

bipolar, Buddhism, depression, love, obsessive compulsive, personal, philosophy, psychiatry, psychology, suicide, therapy

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Visions of my crumpled, lifeless body
haunt my aimless footsteps.
Spectres from the grave welcome
this life-weary traveler.

Tomorrow, that will not come, denies
upturned eyes, the soft rains of hope.
Flames of sorrow and rage sear
this tortured soul.

Ragged hell-cries of desperation rip
and pierce my mind.
No sound is uttered,
since there is no ear to listen.

Grief rises and swells
like the limitless ocean,
swallowing this helpless, solitary victim
in tides of comfortless tears.

Mother earth, take this flesh, these bones
to your rocky bosom;
pull a cover of earth
over this last weary day.

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This poem represents a very bleak period in my life.  After expressing my feelings on paper, I sought psychological and medical help.  I am now pleased to report that suicidal feelings have been left behind.  Bipolar, obsessive compulsive and paranoid personality disorders will always be with me; however medication and meditation allows me to live an intermittently happy life.

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