My Book - 4th Page: ‘BiPolar-A Mind Torn Between Extremes’

SO in the end it was a positive then a negative then I think i’m back to a more neutral manner now. I can tailor it to suit the person, it becomes second nature now. My instinct is to look, eye contact-then adjust if i’m glaring. I’ll be back to this at some point, it deserves some further black ink on white paper.

THE floor, my hands, the ceiling, my eyes feel uncontrollable. My hands
look a jumbled up mess of flesh and sweat, never once sitting still. My
eyes feel puffy, like a big puffy puffer fish that has breathed in one
mighty puff, just waiting for the scuba diver to go ‘BOO!’ to which the
puffer fish just panics and blows up. What a crap computer he has,
and that picture on the wall. Surely he doesn’t have this as his
office, and check those shelves out. He is still sitting there.

I know he is waiting, I also know he is looking at me.

Is this real leather or real fake leather seat i’m sitting on, whatever
it is it certainly isn’t helping me remain calm and cool. The sweat is
making me sweat more, damn its hot in here. No wonder I am not sitting
here comfortably, my shirt is stuck to my back the chair. My jeans,
gross… Turn up the air conditioning or at least get me a chair that
breathes. Might as well have a spotlight focused on me. Can he hear my
thoughts, can he read me at all? What must he be thinking right now, I
need to get out of here, I really do. This is all way to much.

Really though, what the hell am I doing here. The words of many people who
have passed me by, those words of complete wisdom, the words that have
the greatest single negative impact. The greatest cliché of all time,
at least for me anyway. And I am here, pen in hand.

And how did u get here, I mean how did I get here, I don’t mean
generally or meant in philosophical way. I mean right here, in this
place. I recall sitting in my GP’s room. Could of only been a few days
ago now.

Now that was a scene, worthy of any mid week afternoon TV slot.
Seriously, you go and ask for help, you are down and deflated, but you
know the answer before it is answered. But you go along anyway, some
sense of duty, responsibility. And me, pushed for time again, my
internal clock just pissing around with me just dying to mess up my day
with the stress of being late. Late does not is not appropriate behavior, it simply is not acceptable. No if’s and certainly no buts.

So what, I got bigger fish to fry.

Ok, l figure I’ll humour him and at the same time I can humour myself. I mean, I am quite interested in the results, who wouldn’t be? But what would they mean, the expectation of the unknown. But he is still looking for me to say something in. Still looking round this office, still sweating, still shifting in my seat: sure my butt is being shallow-fried.