After I signed myself into the clinic, I sat down next to an old man. He was African American, short, with a soft appearance. It became obvious what he was here for, only after a minute of knowing him. He had to of been sick, because he was coughing. Every time he coughed, he stomped his foot four times and touched his face. “How I love OCD suffers,” I thought. They make everything more random and spontaneous, at least for me. While I was beginning to wonder if I was making him nervous, I was called back to be seen. I came inside the known room of peppermints and flowers. To see a familiar face sitting there, with her familiar welcoming smile, beckoning me to come in and sit. Once we got past all the small talk, my results were going to be next. When the words, “Bipolar” blurted out, it registered, but it remained still while exploding with hatred and fear in my mind.

 Sitting back in that peppermint filled room; my mind was racing at top speed, trying to justify everything. The tears building at the corners of my eyes, I saw all of my errors. I realized how many times I thought someone was in the wrong, and I couldn’t be sure if it was true anymore. Memories, where someone had hurt me, I hated how I acted, because I started it. The rush of every job I have had, where I had gotten fired. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what I really did. I still do not know. I felt like a naive child who couldn’t understand.  The brink of reality, losing its contrast, in realizing I am not who I think I am. I began hearing a child screaming murder. I spun around and looked in the direction, but nothing was there.

My mind had become flooded with racing thoughts, ideas, memories, feelings, and my counter thoughts. I could barely hear, my therapist attempting to talk to me. I felt annoyed, overwhelmed, paranoid, and angry. I opened my mouth to try and speak, but all that came out was mumbling. Looking down at my feet, I began to really try and listen. I heard her, but everything that was coming to mind to respond was out of anger. I felt like she was stabbing me. I didn’t know if I could trust her anymore. I didn’t know what was going to happen.  All I wanted was to go home and never return to this place. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to get away and hide. To be left alone in silence with my thoughts.