I Talk to Myself

A lot. 

I realized a while back that I talk to myself.  Not only do I talk to myself, but I talk a lot.  To myself.  A lot.  I talk about problems, solutions, experiences, interactions, relationships.  With myself, no topic is off limits.  But I’m not sure if that’s normal.  I am definitely not sure that its healthy.  I became a little concerned with my own behavior.  After all, only crazy people talk to themselves.  Maybe, if I hadn’t been caught by others while I was engaged in conversation with myself, I wouldn't be so troubled with my actions.  But after other people knew I was doing it, I had to take action.  So, I committed the cardinal sin of health care in the technological age:  I Googled it. 

The Google.

I tell no less than ten people every week: “Do not Google your symptoms.”  Honestly, the using the internet is the quickest way to convince yourself that you are dying.  But you can’t stop people from using technology.  And  people want to think that they are dying.  They don’t necessarily want to be dying, but they want to think they are.  Because if they are dying, then they aren’t crazy.  Interestingly enough, I never have to tell people with mental health disorders not to Google their symptoms.  Those people know better.  They don’t want the Google to remind them that they are crazy. 

OK.  Let’s just play devil’s advocate for a minute:  What if you are on the edge?  What if you only suspect that you are crazy?  You have no actual diagnosis.  It’s probably alright to use the Google then, right?  You know, just to get an idea of what’s going on inside your head? 

That’s how I rationalized it. 

Crazy. 

OMGIMASCHIZOPHRENIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   Or bipolar.  Or have Borderline Personality Disorder.  Even worse, I may be hypnopompic!!!   I don’t know what that is, but I’m pretty sure it’s real bad.  And it will definitely get me committed.  Damnit.  I’m crazy.  Clinically.  That’s the diagnosis.  The Google confirmed it. 

Anxiety Disorder (with…)

Uh oh.  What if the internets were wrong?  What if I don’t have one of those conditions?  What if I’m not crazy…What if I just have an anxiety disorder? 

The most common mental health diagnosis is Anxiety Disorder.  It’s never just anxiety, though.  It’s anxiety disorder WITH depressed mood.  It’s anxiety disorder WITH disturbance of emotions.  It’s anxiety disorder WITH agoraphobia.  Anxiety is never just anxiety.  It always accompanies another, more concerning, disorder.  With all of that said, I don’t want anything to do with anxiety.  If I am going to be crazy, it’s going to be the good kind.  I don’t want there to be any grey area.  I want 27 personalities.  Or maybe chronic doomsday fantasies.  Even better, I want aliens to be sending me telepathic messages through my subconscious.  I will not settle for an anxiety disorder.  That’s a cop out.  Look.  I talk to myself.  This should be studied by Ivy League scholars.  They need to write a study about me.  I’m a phenomenon. 

Sanity. 

Nothing destroys visions of grandeur and infamy like the internet.  In this, the era of communication and connectivity, you learn quickly that nothing is original.  There are no “firsts” anymore.  Everything has already been done.  While I sat giving myself kudos for achieving a new level of crazy, the Google told me this:  “Talking to yourself is a sign of sanity.” 

I can’t have anything. 

Apparently, talking to yourself isn’t just a sign of sanity, it’s also a sign of intelligence, success, and fertility.  I don’t want any of that.  I wanna be bat shit crazy.  I want to be able to tell people that I have a clinical diagnosis that warrants this sort of irrationality.  I want an excuse.  So many other people get to act like jerks because of a medical condition.  I want that!!!  Turns out though, I’m just a jerk.  Actually, I’m a crazy jerk.  With no clinical findings to fall back on. 

LAME. 

Discouraged.

Yes.  I am discouraged because I haven’t been diagnosed with a mental illness. Or rather, I  haven’t been able to diagnose myself with a mental illness.   I’m pretty sure I have a good one though.  And when I get health insurance, I am going to demand a psych referral…But until then, I’ll keep talking to myself.  It’s my inner peas.