Paranoid is my middle name.

Oh look, Meaghan is paranoid again. Again, I say? How about always. I’m paranoid the driver in the car behind me, who is tailgating my car, hates me and wants to run me off the road. I’m paranoid that the driver of the car behind me, who has followed me for a few blocks, is a serial killer that wants to kill me. Then there’s the paranoia that the building I’m about to enter will blow up with me inside. Just when I think I’m safe from my paranoid thoughts, there’s the thinking that everyone in my life hates me.

I try to keep these thoughts to myself, because I know, deep down, they aren’t true. Knowing something is true and believing it’s true are two separate thought processes all together. Sure, I can tell myself that no harm will come to me while I’m in the building but the paranoia makes it hard to go through the doors. I have to fight with myself to even enter the building. Often I find myself altering the path I’m taking on the road just to prove to myself that the driver behind me isn’t going to cause me harm. Then there’s the belief that my friends and family hate me.

That one is the hardest. Especially when a loved one doesn’t return my text or phone call right away. On the other hand, I don’t return texts or phone calls because why should I when the person reaching out doesn’t actually love me? Medication has helped out with these beliefs but it isn’t perfect. The thoughts still leak through. All I can do is live with a split mind. The knowing and the believing. It used to tear my brain apart living this way, but I’ve gotten used to it. That sounds sad and in a way it is. I want to live paranoia free but I have learned to live with this aspect of my disorder and for now, that needs to be enough.