I’m disturbed. In every sense of the word.
Not like those disturbed people you see on Facebook, sharing posts about House MD or some other series character saying how weird and dysfunctional they are.
I’m sick. Sickly disturbed.
Last week I went to my psychiatrist’s appointment and suddenly I found out that my thoughts, that I have been having for 15, 20 years, are not usual, common, okay. Whatsoever.
Suddenly I found out that it is not okay to imagine myself being shot in the back every time I enter my building. Suddenly, thinking about being shot in the back at all, by anyone, by an imaginary enemy, is not something normal people do.
Out of nothing, I discover that imagining myself being filmed just like The Truman Show is not exactly something I should be thinking, since it’s not exactly real.
Dear all, THAT is being disturbed and sick. And because of all that, I add a new medicine to all the medicines I already take every fucking single day. And because of those remedies, I went to the dermatologist, and my face and back are being treated for acne. And tomorrow I’m going to the gastroenterologist tomorrow.
After 30, that’s all I do: I have appointments. A LOT. It’s boring, it’s expensive, it’s tiring. I don’t know why this comes from this time, but I choke every dawn and feel heartburn every single day. Imagine how nice I feel, huh?
Living is nice, as anyone can see. Being this weird, even better then.
I just needed to say how weird I feel for feeling and thinking weird stuff, now acknowledging it’s not usual and not even close to normal. I could not say all these in Portuguese just because I couldn’t; it’d sound a lot worse than it already is…
In the other hand, I got some nice things to come, I guess. Being 30 has also given me much more awareness of what I really want for myself and what I really need to live high, might and righteously…