– I am tired of your games, – Jim was angry, I was quietly snacking on a pine apple.
Split personality, getting through my days under endlessly changing masks; altering the thought process based on the day of the week, on the frequency of sugar intake, and on the degree of the body dehydration. That was my way of living.
– You are bi-polar and seriously psychotic, don’t you see? – Jim looked pissed. I kept licking the pine-apple juice off my fingers.
Unlike myself, Jim’s perception of the reality was consistent. His mindset was consistently locked in the world of profit and loss statements, dull numbers, and endless money-making. He was unable to grasp any diversion from the linear buying-cheap-selling-high approach.-
– If you hate chaos, why are you still with me?
– I like you, Vixen. I can be your sugar daddy, all I ask is your consistency, – He obviously loved what he called “craziness” and “psychosis”, – you need therapy and medication.
– My therapist told me what you did to me when we met is rape.
– Change your therapist, she is an idiot.
He was insistent on my mental diagnosis and on my inability to survive without his pervasive interference in my life. – I am the most normal person you have ever met, Vixen. You have no idea how lucky you are that I am around. You are a very poor judge of character; people that you choose are really weird.
– I know. – With time, I learned how to deal with my mind games; I knew that my mind gets me down throwing me into deadly hopelessness every Monday morning, every weekend without Greg, every failed job interview, every time my expectations do not match the reality.
The mind could spin relentlessly, sinking me in despair. I knew when panic attacks will return, I knew exactly what they will be about. I knew the first signs of mania, I knew when and how I will be kicked out of euphoria straight into the gloom and doom of the depressive episode.
At first, I was searching for the triggers to catch, to prevent, to cope, then I got bored and stopped wasting my time on digging into the crap of childhood traumas and heart-breaking love stories. I got tired of reacting to endless mind dramas, the mind repertoire was limited, dull, and nauseously primitive. I just kept doing what needed to be done without reacting to the hysteria of the tiny tape-recorder in my head.
I knew I was cuckoo, I did not care.
Jim was cuckoo too, he was stuck in solely one reality that his mind kept creating for him throughout his life. Fixated on success, unable to share, and mercilessly using others, he continued suffering every time his obsession with power and control broke against common sense. He kept picking up the tiny pieces of his illusions of strength and dominance, trying to clue them together and resume control, repeating the same break-and-repair insanity cycle over and over again.
– Vixen, how many personalities do you have? I counted at least six.
– Millions or billions, whatever the mind creates, but I do not bother….
– Why? – dark eyes, black hair, and Italian background, he was hot and charismatic, at least this is how my mind wanted me to perceive him.
– I do not care because I do not exist, you do not exist either. And it really does not matter what the mind will want us to see and to feel as long as we use the mind as a tool, and we do not allow it to use us instead.