I can’t explain what’s going on for one reason and one reason only.
I can’t figure it out .
Since the changing of the seasons I’ve lost a lot of physical energy.
I’ve been to the doctor once a week now for a month or so.
I’ve had blood tests.
I’ve had urine tests.
I’ve had my throat swabbed and tested.
And I’ve been more than violated.
all things considered I am pretty healthy.
There are a few bumps as there always is, but no major set backs.
So now I get to go in for mental testing (oh the joys)
For a long time I’ve known I think to much (I generally embrace it ).
Sometimes I think about weird shit that makes no sense.
Sometimes I think about my life at the current moment.
Sometimes I get lost in thoughts of someone elses life.
But its never been a problem.
I still don’t think it is, however something is going on somewhere inside of me, and its fucking me up.
I don’t sleep at night.
In turn, I sleep in late.
I’m never on time.
(I never have really been on time for anything though, and I swear that’s my luck, not a fault)
And I can’t stay focused on what I am doing.
This has all come about recently, however there has been a big onset.
I have self diagnosed anxiety.
Self diagnosed because no one has ever told me I have, I just know it is there and I deal with it.
again, never really a problem as I just accept it and deal with it….

So, the doc doesn’t know what’s wrong with me.
Last week he sent me home with a bunch of questionnaires and surveys to do on myself.
Because I find it hard to do anything these days, I still have not put a pen to a single piece of paper he gave me (I’m supposed to see him in less then 20 hours), however I have glanced over everything a few times.
…reading.material…
I have answered (in my head) most of the questions a few times, and as shocked as I am with the answers, I’m not really surprised.
They ask the most generic questions.
Questions that every 24 year old will likely answer “yes” or “always” or “often” or “that’s me” to.
Questions like.
“When you have a task that requires a lot of thought, how often do you avoid or delay getting started?”
Or.
“How often are you distracted by noise and activity around you?”
And so on.
Come here.
I don’t know about the rest of the world, but that is me all the time and I assume 95% of the population, and likely more in my age demographic.
Maybe I am wrong.

My biggest fear with all this is having to be put on medication. I don’t agree with medicating people for a.d.d and adhd and so on, as it is who we are as a person but it is seriously getting ridiculous. I don’t want to have to take a pill everyday to make my self normal and I fear that it may change who I am and quite frankly I like who I am but that stuff was created for a reason I guess.. I have no problems putting other shit into my body that is likely just as damaging, mentally and physically, so maybe its for the best.

In these trips to my doctor, I have come to discover that my doctor is pretty dumb. As a doctor, he is smart.
He knows his shit.
I trust his judgment and professional advice.
But he is dumb.
He is one of those people who really don’t have a clue about the world around them.
To me, he seems like the type of person who goes home at 5 everyday, dinner is ready, the kids are at the table waiting, they eat their dinner, clear the table, the kids do homework, he watches the news and before you know it, bed time.
And that’s fine, live how you want to.
I think he was that kid at that table 40 years ago.
I think he has lived a very sheltered life, again that is fine, do what you wish but I don’t know if that type of person makes the best doctor.
He is human
As we all are.
He has his own problems.
As we all do.
But I think, he thinks, because he is a doctor all is well.
Some days, he isn’t mentally all there (again, we are all human it happens). I find him going off into la la land, or talking to himself in mumbles.
He constantly bitches about our health care system and how it is messed up, in which I talked back to him last week and said, “I have a lot of friends around the world who cannot see a doctor this easily and for free, so I am pretty grateful”
And that was about the end of the appointment.
It kind of worries me though.
I know when I am angry and bitching about work and the way it is run, I tend to not put in as much effort into my job.
And he is always bitching.
Doctors shouldn’t be aloud to bitch at patients about shit like that.
It makes me wonder.
What if this man is just as anxious as I am?
(Sometimes he seems it)
How does this guy handle his day to day life?
And why do I trust him to tell me what’s wrong with me?
(not so much as what’s wrong with me as what’s slowing me down)
Here I am questioning a mans mental health, and he will soon evaluate mine ( to the best he can).
I seriously think to much.
I wonder why this man chose to be a doctor..
He seems to hate his life more often then not.
This man probably goes on church picnics (despising every minute of it) and gets praised for being a doctor.
but at Christmas he secretly crushes up valium and mixes it into the mash potatoes.
But he is the clown at the kids birthday parties, and the father on the sidelines every weekend.
He seriously seems like the dude who ended up with all the luck but has gone the past 15 years wishing for a different life.
He is stuck.
And it shows.
I can see his brain moving just as fast as mine.
(Its clockwork and un-harmonized melody)
but I’ll be damned, it works.
(so far)
So some where between “I will see you next week” and the sound of cheap adhesive peeling from the back of a half full prescription pad,
…isnapbacktoreality…
And thank him, once again for everything.
He grumbles something before opening the door to this freezer sized office and yells down the hallway “Emily, get this man in to see me next week”.
We shake hands and part ways.
And there you have it, the most legal drug deal I have ever been involved in.
I was even given options based on price (almost in the same way the girl who sells me pot pulls different bags from under her sofa and presents me with the biggest bud she can find)
I walk past one make shift cubicle,(oddly placed in the center of this 7th floor) past an open door (to a dishwasher sized room occupied by a women who I would have assumed dead if it weren’t for a sudden sway of her left foot, as the sound of my bronchial cough bounced off the single payne windows behind her) and I finally reach yet another make shift cubicle, however this one is built mainly of 10 foot high filing cabinets and an Ikea computer desk (and a half).
I find Emily (an awkward smile blue eyed blonde girl with fashionable bangs, hopefully 24-27 but probably 32-35) struggling with her wireless headset.
This thing is beyond crazy, its hooked up to a switch that’s hooked up to a wire that’s plugged into a box connected to some weird spatula looking device placed under the receiver of this massive office phone, and it simply lifts the receiver a mere inch off the base so she can take the call in her wireless headset..
It is fucked up…
Well, I find it fucked up, its likely a normal everyday office gadget that I’ve never seen before.
So here is Emily, my doctors secretary. She is a sweet girl, always makes small talk, always writes my next appointment on the same green paper (even when I protest it because I believe in saving tree’s and would rather store the appointment in my blackberry, and every time she reminds me the tree has already been cut), she always gets me in to see the doc when I am late…
Even when its an hour.
And she always insists on calling to make other appointments for me- bloodwork, E.N.T etc.
She really is a sweetheart-
However, she gives me fuck me eyes when no one is around.
After every appointment she invites me to hang out with her (yes in the “waiting room”)
Everytime she walks me into a room she always changes the paper over the bed (not so weird, the weird part is that the doctor changes it everytime he uses it, so its always fresh), causing her to lift, lean and reach, showing off some of her more prominent features (if you will)
And when she leaves, she gives me a shot of that little awkward smile of hers, flicks her hair and looks back in as she shuts the door.
And that’s that until our rendez vous in death’s lobby.
I know people sometimes meet people at their work place, and I am (from all that I have seen) by far the youngest patient in that office (this has never dawned on me until now), but really? Is she going to be this obvious. In any other situation I would be ok with it, I would be ok with her, but not when you work for my doctor.
It is weird enough that she can openly look at my file and see what’s going on with me ( not that there is another weird or anything to be ashamed of), but that’s her job and that’s ok with me, and its even more strange that she would attempt to make advances on me, in what is likely the most depressing place I visit in my week.

So, between questioning my doctors mental health and contemplating filling some girls weird fantasy (its likely all in my head), I think I may be in good hands here..