Analyze Me

Do you ever wonder what a therapist would find wrong with you if given the opportunity?  I do.  I'll admit that I'm not a real fan of the field of psychology.  I'm not saying that it can't help some people.  I do feel that too many people use "diagnoses" as excuses to avoid making changes in their lives.  It's just a little too convenient to claim illness instead of owning laziness, hatefulness, or irresponsibility.  Again, I'm not diminishing the good that comes from therapy for those in real need of it. 

I don't feel I need therapy.  My curiosity does leave me wondering what a therapist might uncover in my psyche.  Some of my friends on Facebook take all the little quizzes that supposedly reveal their personalities.  One particular friend took one the other day that diagnosed her as having OCD.  I clicked on her results to see what symptoms it described.  It was funny.  I would NEVER call myself obsessive compulsive, because my house is never spotless.  However, I did relate to one aspect of the explanation.  It asked if you organize your foods, like M&Ms, and eat the ones you least like to most like.  HA!  That's me!  I don't do this every time I eat them, but if I have the time and can see them all at once, I will sort them by color.  I'll eat the brown first (least attractive), and I'll save the greens for last.  I don't know why.  I do something similar with french fries.  I like the softer fries best.  So, I'll eat the hard crispy ones first, saving the best for last. 

I have often felt a little bipolar, thanks to hormones.  It's the strangest feeling, because I know I'm being unreasonable and can't seem to control it.  Thankfully, this is a passing phase that doesn't afflict me every month. 

One of my new favorite shows is "Hoarders" on A&E.  These people become paralyzed by the clutter that literally fills their homes.  Oddly, I see glimpses of myself in some of these people.  I am not one that keeps my house completely picked up and clutter-free.  I try to keep it decently presentable, and that's enough for me.  So, I'm not suffering from the disease these people have.  Yet, I relate to some of them in so many ways.  I have trouble letting go of some of the smallest, most insignificant items that hold sentimental feelings for me.  I still have a Valentine that was given to me by a boy in my class in 5th or 6th grade.  I cannot throw away any school pictures of my friends from grade school.  I don't need the pictures, and they're not in albums.  Still, I am unable to part with them.  Some of them are of kids that I wasn't even close to.  It doesn't matter.  Throwing away pictures just seems wrong to me.  I save things that I know I'll never need again but just can't bring myself to get rid of. 

These are just the tip of my psychological iceberg.  I'm not ready to delve into the analysis of my mind, but I can't help but wonder about it from time to time.  Just how many meds would a doctor prescribe to me if given the chance to explore my psyche?  We will hopefully never know!