Paranoia Activity

Actually, there’s a whole lot less of that going on these days. I’ve never really talked much about this ugly little spud—mainly because I’m embarrassed by it—but now that I’m not having those issues, it seems OK to bring it out into the light for just a moment.

I’ve always had a degree of paranoia, even when I was a kid and I thought everyone was always talking about me, laughing at me, or simply hating on me. But it’s gotten worse in recent years, and never more so than when I’m manic. That’s when I keep the curtains closed because the neighbors are spying on me, and freak out about anything even remotely associated with the government (which ought to be interesting the next time it happens, seeing as how I WORK for the government).

But lately, even situations that would ordinarily bring on some kind of paranoid brain spasm don’t seem to faze me. Having a car follow me for several miles no longer sends me into orbit; hearing conversation stop when I walk into a room doesn’t make me feel like the red-headed stepchild anymore. And then today, a discussion by one of my trainers during a class convinced me that I really AM over it…..at least for the time being.

Although they all know that my experience is in health care, this particular instructor was addressing both my fellow newbie and me in talking about some of what we’d encounter as surveyors. As it happens, her background is in behavioral health, and she was looking right at me when she mentioned several common psychiatric illnesses that we would run across in long-term care settings of all types. Guess which one was the first?

Now, right up until the past month or two, I would’ve instantly assumed that she somehow “knew”, and it would’ve ruined the whole day for me. But today, that thought was promptly dismissed and I chuckled inwardly at the idea. After all, unless the people who vetted me during the selection process had snooped in my medical records, there is no way they could know, because that’s protected health information and I’ve never been asked about it. I didn’t even have to pee in a cup. Ergo, they have absolutely NO idea that I’m bipolar. Isn’t logic great??

I know—it’s sort of pathetic when a person feels the need to congratulate herself for not having a maladaptive reaction to something that would be a non-issue for everybody else. But this is a mark of how much has changed for the better in my life, and by gosh, I’m gonna celebrate it! 😀