Yes, I’m Paranoid
Or so they say
My thoughts are vivid, beautiful, and exquisite. And yet my thoughts can also be dangerous, breathtaking, and terrifying. I have lived with paranoia since 2013.
Mental Health America, a national nonprofit, defines paranoia as “intense anxious or fearful feelings and thoughts often related to persecution, threat, or conspiracy.” That’s me.
When I am experiencing paranoia, I believe the world, or at least if some of its inhabitants, is out to get me. But the “how they get me” part always stays ambiguous; I am not sure what’s going to happen, but I’m sure something will. It seems so real and so matter of fact. I rehearse and run scenarios in my mind because somehow, I believe it will prepare me for the time when they do, in fact, get me.
I even thank God for leaving me clues that I put together neatly in my mind. It all makes sense. It creates a narrative that keeps me up at night. I don’t want to remain vigilant; I just want to be safe, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I can’t help but wonder what’ll happen if I let my guard down. I remind myself that I’ve been attacked and traumatized before. “Will these experiences prepare me for next time” is what I ask myself while fighting sleep.
I want to get out of my head, but I’m trapped in it forever. And forever is a mighty long time. So, I can’t focus on anything because the thought of my untimely demise reigns over my entire day. I don’t plan my funeral, but I hope my life was worth a great eulogy. I imagine the standing ovation my eulogizer will get. Or maybe even the laugher they’ll get through their sprinkling of jokes in a perfunctory speech that concludes my life. As always, I’m overthinking.
So, I seek help by seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist. And when I let them in on my thoughts, they told me that I was just paranoid. I can’t accept their perception because they may be in on the plot to get me, too. I don’t fully trust my mind, but I for damn sure don’t trust them. So, trusting my mind is imperative because I can’t let them paint the picture, describe the scenario, or break it down for me. My trust issues force me to disregard every word they say — even with the sound of authenticity in their voice. They’re sincere and genuine, but so are my intrusive thoughts that seem unable to escape my mind.
Now, back to what’s in my mind. I can’t leave my mind for too long. That’s why I can never ever meditate. I don’t want the thoughts to stop because I’ve discovered home in them. My thoughts are currency because without them I’d be emotionally broke and indebted to unwanted anxiety.
I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize myself. I wonder if the sleepless nights have gotten to me. I am scared of my thoughts because paranoia has told me before to write accusatory emails with obscure quotes from historical figures and rappers. I can’t believe that actually happened, but it did. And the email I sent went to a medical professional, who’s specialty isn’t mental health. I begin to realize paranoia sometimes makes me dumb. Not bad dumb, but just run of the mill dumb. The dumb where, after it’s over, I realized what I did didn’t make sense.
My mind begins to wander toward acceptance. Maybe that’s it. It’s acceptance. Accepting that I have paranoid thoughts, and I could be traumatized again. But I have to remind myself that if the day comes — the day where they get me — I’ll be ready because even though I’ve been hurt before, I’ll rise again. No doubt that it’ll take some time, but I’ll get back up and I’ll continue to live my life.
The scary part is never knowing when it’ll creep back into my mind. I don’t know when it’ll consume me again. But that begs the questions: will I continue to be paranoid or will I be the fighter I always was? Or can I be both? That question leaves me perplexed.
Brakeyshia R. Samms is a student of life, who is no longer flunking the course. Based in Carrollton, TX, she lives with a mental illness and works as a policy analyst.
