All I write about is my mental health. No wait, those last three words need capitalisation. I dont know why, but they do- MY MENTAL HEALTH. I make no apologies for that, but I'm acknowledging the fact so that you can't use it against me. Tell you what, I'll throw a couple of other things out there. Male koalas have a forked penis and Margaret Thatcher ate a lot of eggs in the early months of 1979.
I hate psychological assessments (I realise that that phrase ought to be capitalised too, but there you go. You don't care and I shall try to get over it). I hate the innane questions- it's actually not just on the telly that psychiatrists and therapists and psych nurses and anybody else who is vaguely interested or linked (the plumber, for example) utter, 'So... Tell me about your childhood.' The most ridiculous thing they always ask, the one that makes me cringe is, 'DESCRIBE YOUR LIFE IN ONE WORD'. My last psych assessment (I have had hundreds, because I get referred to all sorts of services) was only yesterday, and yesterday I was feeling precariously happy- teetering on the knife edge, you know? Anyway, I was feeling generous so I didn't rant about the stupidity of what I was being asked, or else give a stupid answer. Instead, I just answered 'erratic'. For no reason, other than it was my word of the day.
I don't know the correct answer to that question. I don't know how a person sums up all the hours, minutes, seconds; even just to describe a DAY in one word. I couldn't sum up a single thing, besides perhaps what I think of myself, in just one word. It bothers me that I can't answer it, and that I'm always left giving a word that means NOTHING in answer to that. Erratic?
I am obsessing over that question, and the 'correct' answers.
I know exactly what I'm doing now. When I'm having a really hard time (today has been hysterical. And I'm not using that word to mean funny. I mean, I have been hysterical for the vast majority of it. In fact, the last few weeks I have been largely hysterical), I get really obsessive about something else unconnected. Like, for example, when I was in hospital at the beginning of this year, I got really obsessive about a Government healthy eating initiative. Last summer, before I ended up on the psych ward, I discovered everything there is to know about the Hungarian revolution.
I don't care about DESCRIBE YOUR LIFE IN ONE WORD, I don't care about all the ways it could be answered. I don't care about what they think of my answer. I KNOW that I don't give a fuck about any of that. Sometimes though, it's necessary to pick something and to pretend to care about it. I'm scared that I don't really care about enough, especially when I get like this. I definitely don't care about what I should. I don't care how I look, as long as you can't make out my body- the shape of it, the size of it... in fact, as long as you can't make out that I even have a body, I don't care. I wash my hair when I remember that I should, but I never brush or comb it. I don't wear make up. I haven't had sex in months and the last time I did have sex, I didn't know the man and I didn't care either way about the act. I don't know who most celebrities people talk about are. Most people's lives are utterly alien to me, or rather- their experiences, how they interpret those experiences and their problems are.
But to be human, it's essential to care about something. Even something this insignificant.
I don't feel very human. I'm curious as to whether I actually AM human, and so I am testing myself. I am testing what this body can do. In fact, that seems to be all my life is- it's a test. Maybe that's the right answer, how to sum my life up in a word. Purgatory, that's another word. I'm waiting for this stuff (I don't know what this 'stuff' is, really. They tell me I'm insightful about my problems, but I think that just means that they are even more clueless than I am) to melt away and for my life to begin. But you can only live if you are human and I have a feeling that soon I'll know either way.