Having OCD and Bipolar Disorder means OBSESSIONS. OCD with the your family will die a violent, gruesome death if you don’t wash your hands type and Bipolar Disorder with the I spent hundreds of dollars on books about the physics of roller coasters because it’s definitely my calling even though I know nothing about physics and am scared of roller coasters but hey, they look awesome type.
Bipolar Disorder also means looking for ~ signs ~ even though I’m typically a pretty logical person. In fact, my ability to take emotions out of the equation is a point of pride for me (whether this is actually healthy is debatable). Most people have no idea that my brain is a junk drawer of irrational obsessions, and when I start to unpack it, I remember why I keep it to myself.
So lo and behold, during another sleepless night, all of my obsessiveness and reluctant superstitiousness culminated in figuring out the astrological sign of literally all the people I talk to on a regular basis so I could see if the stars or whatever think they’re compatible with me, a capricorn.
But like anything, it took no more than ten minutes of “research” to figure out just how little I knew. Sure, you’ve got your basic astrological signs, but that’s novice shit. There are these things called “birth charts.” I won’t go into detail, but they chart the stars, asteroids, sun, moon, planets, etc. on the day you were born. I’m going to be honest. It seemed somewhat accurate, but I didn’t really understand the jargon. It’d be like financial industry jargon if the financial industry was completely based on something outside the bounds of tangible reality. Oh. Wait.
Anyway, people REALLY leave no stone unturned when they’re into their bullshit. (Find yours here. I know you’re a little curious about how the stars fucked you up.)
I knew it was nonsense, but I was balls deep in astrology by 3 am. Without sleep, my brain’s latent gullibility is always awakened. After all, I used to read scripture when I needed some direction, so I had to fill the void in need of unsubstantiated but uplifting drivel with something.
I slept a restless three hours that night and woke up still pissed at the cosmos for making me so moody, tactless, and easily invalidated.
I can’t get enough of those pseudo-science personality categorizers. Ask basically anyone. I literally walk around firing “what’s your Myers-Briggs type?” at people like an m16. Enneagrams, Myers-Briggs, Socionics, Big 5, Jung Cognitive Functions, the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, Jedi/Sith quizzes, the Alignment Test, Freudian id-ego-superego stuff, and now astrological signs. I have an obsession with organizing people as if nailing down someone’s personality type will do the work of making friends for me and further purge me of social ineptitude.
How am I simultaneously all about individuality and all about finding some Ultimate Theory that allows me to put all the people in the world into neat, little boxes? Whatever, I don’t really know. I didn’t come here to do a thorough deconstruction of my reasoning for these obsessions. I only came here to say I have them. Well, that is probably a lie. I always need to find the reason.
My brain is basically just an infinite regression of what-if scenarios. Like if I could sustain multiple trains of thought at one time, all possible alternate universes would definitely exist simultaneously inside my head. Maybe that’s what draws me to this specific brand of bullshitting myself like labeling my multitudes somehow makes them less contradictory. Or maybe my brain is just like okay how can we impulsively waste time and self-sabotage today? I know! Read in-depth about all the absurd but possible reasons for your tendency to impulsively waste time and self-sabotage!
It’s like compiling an excel spreadsheet of all my favorite songs organized alphabetically by genre. Sure, I felt like I was doing something, but I accomplished absolutely nothing. I don’t even think I saved it. But at the time, I was like yes! Organizing my playlists is the perfect way to get my life together! Everything will make so much more sense when I’m done! Lol @ me.
Hell, maybe I suddenly got into astrology because it was taboo for so long. Christians literally think you are opening portals to Satan’s dark underworld of demons and face-melting heat if you google your astrological sign. I used to read them in my free copies of Teen Vogue on the toilet so no one saw me, and then I’d pray for forgiveness afterward, terrified that I had just made myself susceptible to possession or something. Honestly, I think I just made myself susceptible to bullshit because I was like that is SO me when it was probably like SO all of humanity.
I mean, I was the kid (teenager and young adult) who reimagined her life on every single Star Wars planet – there are way more than the movies let on – because I was that bored with the Milky Way. And let me you. Dantooine sucks way more than Tatooine which sucks way more than Klatooine, and Mandalore is way cooler than Coruscant, and not just because it’s in the Outer Rim. And Cato Neimoidia probably killed me.
I am always looking for some fake world where personalities are perfectly organized, good vs. evil isn’t a false dichotomy, and planets only have one climate each. Maladaptive daydreaming, or whatever. Even blogging helps me dissociate, which is good because I’m not sure anyone else really benefits from it.
Obsessions and collections have always been a way for me to siphon my relentless emotional energy into something external. Bugs, erasers, action figures, rocks, seashells, dolls, legos, books, figurines, tiny glass animals, barbies, records, and notebooks full of alternate universe ideas: you name it, I collected it, and I spent hours organizing and reorganizing said collections. Now, I tend to collect useless information, but the same coping mechanism is at play. It makes me an endless well of useless trivia, no doubt, but it also leaves little room to reckon with my internal reality and my interpersonal relationships. Which is fine with me!
So while everyone else travels the world or whatever, I’m content trying to Wikipedia my way into feigning an understanding of string theory (you know, as a fun party trick), reading speculations on what happened to Atlantis on Wikipedia, and watching videos about the hunting patterns of wolves.
My skull was destined to be a repository for worthless minutiae. My birth chart told me so!