Schizotypal Personality Disorder

I am going to take the long route home to avoid meeting those grinning ladies who come abruptly at my face, immediately demanding (without explicitly stating it of course) that I respond or acknowledge them in some way, I know not how. And why must they come at me like that? I wonder if they time their walks to match mine; it cannot be a coincidence. Nothing in this life is a coincidence. Nothing! in this life is a coincidence. Nothing in this…and is it a coincidence that one of their daughters is always loitering near my gate? with her smartphone, with which we all know everything can be recorded and broadcasted immediately. 

We are the sole protector of our privacy from the onslaught of mobile cameras.  

Yes, let me take the longer quieter route and then I’ll promptly bolt the door tight when I reach home, and….I wonder if they found out about the game. But how could they? Did I share it with anyone else?  Do they think I am anti-national now that I predicted the loss of our cricket team? But I didn’t want them to lose, I didn’t gave a hoot way, I just knew they would… lose I mean. OR maybe,  yes that is it, maybe they are looking to have me predict the next game for them. That must be it. Those sly B***ches. They want to mint money out of me. No no no. Cannot. will not. After all, we all know, that the power goes away when placed in contact with greed. 

This world is going to the dogs. This world is going to. the. dogs. This world is…yes let me repeat this phrase again and again…this phrase…this is the pure truth…this world is going! tooo the dogs. Let me thus take the longer route. 

For a quick run-through on the basic characteristics and symptoms of the disorder you can watch Kati Morton explain the DSM-5 symptoms in a simple engaging way.  For a deeper understanding about this, you can consider investing 20 mins in this longer article on the disorder.

Borderline Personality Disorder

I see you checking your watch, the door, every time I am at home. You’re biding your time, you’re waiting for the right moment

to leave me. 

I cannot take this anymore. What if…what if I burn your driving license, hide your credit card…you will be forced to stay, won’t you? Darling, please stay. 

It’s either that, or I’ll kill myself. What is the point of living, if you’re not here to share this life with me!

Who do you speak on the phone to so much? Are you cheating on me? I won’t be surprised, it would be just like you to do so. Oh, I could murder you! I could be with ANY body, anybody I want. Why did I have to chose you?

Why of course I threw your phone! You made me do it. Why do you have to speak on the phone while I am trying to have a romantic dinner with you?

Darling darling, I am sorry I am sorry. I didn’t mean that. Come near me, let me touch your mole, your lines. My heart bursts with love for you. Are you thinking of leaving me? Why don’t we leave our jobs, and freelance together from home. That way we can spend every second with each other. 

Oh, why do you look at her like that. I cannot stand this! When you go out tomorrow, don’t bother coming back again! I am telling you, don’t come back in this house again?

Gosh, don’t take me so seriously. Come, kiss me. Please kiss me. How will I love myself if you don’t love me? I don’t feel real until you look at me. 

This is an interesting article describing how BPD is sometimes misread, and remains unacknowledged or untreated. This is a slightly longer article, describing the transformative work of a therapist, who herself suffered from the disorder, with her highly suicidal clients suffering from BPD. If you just want a quick overview of symptoms and risk factors, go here.

 

Hypochondriasis

They think I am pretending, they laugh at me behind my back (or even in front of me, those shameless devils), but I despise them just as passionately as they reject me. Do you think I enjoy taking rounds and rounds of hospitals and clinics, a different one each time, watching doctor after doctor frown at me, cut me off mid-sentence, charge enormous fees for 10 minutes of their impatient time? I have spent 20,000 INR just this month alone, on  my medical fees. That’s 20% of my salary! You think I enjoy this!? I am going to need this money for my treatment when they finally find out the cause of all this! Will they repay me for the time and money I have spent on them, each time hoping to find a doctor who will listen and sympathise, who will make use of their expensive education and help me. Instead, with each passing year, the doctors coming out of these medical colleges have shorter and shorter attention spans. They throw offhanded judgements and medicines without waiting to listen to the discomforts I have faced for the past 12 years.

I now self-monitor my weight and bloodpressure I myself; I measure them both twice everyday, making careful notes. I have instructed my daughter to video-record me every time I have my pains, to show the doctors how my skin loses its colour, my body goes limp, how I shriek with true pain. I have lost almost as much money on sick-leaves as I have on my treatments. Those doctors might find these videos more entertaining than hearing me speak. Maybe one day all these notes and videos will help a more patient, more understanding doctor get closer to finding the cause of my illness. I lose more weight everyday; my temperature fluctuates every week and my body goes weak with exhaustion without any physical strain. This is not a life anybody wishes on themselves. I will do anything to not be like this, to not inhabit this body…to work everyday without having to rush home every other week, to go out with friends without making excuses for my sickness, to be distracted for even a few hours from the tickings and runnings of my system; and I definitely don’t want to see the snarky face of another doctor who thinks they know more about my sickness that I do myself. 

If you want to read a quick description of Hypochondriasis, go here, and this is a slightly longer article explaining Hypochondriasis as an anxiety disorder . This is a more humorous personal account by Woody Allen in New York Times, who has proclaimed himself, on multiple occasions, to have acute debilitating symptoms of hypochondriasis.