The pretty psychologist nodded as my eyes took on a wet glaze. "I understand," she said. "Believe me. You're not the first person like this to walk through my office doors. Many of my patients are highly creative, like you."

"Do you have a blue pill you can give me?" I begged. "Sometimes, I wish I were ignorant. Like, you know in The Matrix, when Cypher betrays his friends in exchange for going back into the simulation and being blissfully unaware of the Truth? It's a dick move, but I can understand the appeal. I'd be tempted to take the blue pill, just so I could switch my brain off and have some peace."

"It's quite overwhelming, isn't it?" she said. "The high periods."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I like the highs, though. I feel invincible; like I can do anything; like I can actually make a difference in the world! Everything just feels so achievable — even the most audacious goals. I feel like that Greek god, Atlas — strong enough to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. And then, eventually, the depression comes, and my strength evaporates, and I just get crushed by the weight of it all. The whole universe crashes down upon me."

"That's called grandiose thinking," the psychologist said. "You feel bold and invincible and capable of anything. It makes you take bigger risks-"

"Is it really grandiose, though?" I interjected. "I mean, most people don't take any risk in their life. They're too scared, or they have low self-efficacy. Is that the benchmark we're measuring grandiosity against? Am I supposed to play it small by default, and when my ambition increases, we call that 'grandiose thinking?'

I'd argue that the general population has far too little faith in themselves and completely misunderstands the nature of risk. The biggest risk is taking no risk at all. If you take no risk, you're guaranteed to live a sub-optimal life. And yet most people take no risk in their lives, so they're ironically taking on much more risk than I am. Therefore, why don't we diagnose the general population with smalliosity? Why am I the one with the problem? I realize that my life is the epitome of privilege, and I have a safety net to fall into, but that still doesn't make my statement objectively false. I'll take my grandiosity any day of the week. At least my grandiosity gives me the confidence to actually try."

The psychologist smiled. "But you do take bigger risks, don't you? Look, the impulsive risk-taking can become quite extreme for some people. I have patients who spent their life savings in a day, or thought the president needed to know about their brilliant idea, or they formed an unshakeable belief in something that is completely out of touch with reality. That's when it gets dangerous."

"Yeah, I can see that," I said. "I mean, I've done some bold things when I'm in one of these hyperactive periods. Sometimes those risks don't pay off, and I feel that cringey kind of regret afterward. Other times, they work and have been responsible for hugely positive experiences in my life. You win some, you lose some. But if you don't take any risk, you lose them all. Granted, I've never bet my life savings on a horse or anything. I'm not out of touch with reality, if that's what you're wondering. But I have bet my time, energy, money, and reputation on something that looked 'crazy' and 'irrational' and perhaps 'grandiose' to other people.

Actually, I've noticed, generally speaking, that you're not allowed to be crazy and wrong in this world — that makes you delusional and grandiose and perhaps mentally ill. But you are allowed to be crazy and right — that makes you a visionary, hoisted onto a pedestal. I find this hilarious, seeing as 'grandiose thinking' is responsible for our current quality of life. Everything we now take for granted once existed in the mind of a grandiose thinker. I'm personally very grateful that they were delusional enough to push their ideas out of their mind and into the real world."

The psychologist nodded. "I'm not trying to challenge you on this. I don't disagree. Many of my clients find some benefit in their grandiose thinking, as long as it doesn't interfere with their life. A mild form of it is beneficial. But in excess, it can obviously be very destructive."

"Sorry," I said. "I don't mean to come across as combative. I just get irritated by the double standard in society. It's like, a hot guy hitting on a woman is 'confident,' but if you're an unattractive man doing the same thing, you're 'creepy.' The difference is just whether or not the attention is wanted. It's the same thing here — if you take big risks that pay off, you're a visionary. But if you take big risks that don't pay off, you're delusional, and you end up sitting right here, where I am, in a psychologist's office."

"So, what about delusions and hallucinations?" she asked. "It sounds like you're still in touch with reality during these high periods. Have you ever experienced a break from reality?"

I flashed back to my time in Chiang Mai, where the flip-flop moved across the floor by itself, defying all the known 'laws of physics' I was taught in school.

No, my mind answered. That wasn't a hallucination. Hallucinations can't move physical matter, and that flip-flop moved by itself. You even picked it up in your hands to double-check, and then you put it on your foot and went to dinner. It was just the algorithm at the lower dimension. You know that. You know how this algorithm works, and it's perfectly capable of making a shoe move by itself. A moving shoe is an interrupted neurosis; a low-probability emergent pattern. You've checked the logic, and it holds up. You're not crazy. Everyone else is.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall. I didn't have eight hours to explain to her, from first principles, why her entire understanding of the universe was wrong.

"No," I lied. "I've never experienced anything like that."

"That's good," she said as she scribbled some more notes. "And during these high periods, do you find yourself increasingly interested in mystical things?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you start imbuing meaning and special significance onto random objects or events? Perhaps seeing codes and messages in unrelated things?"

Duh, my mind said. Reality is a language. Objects and events are symbols. Infinite intelligence communicates through these symbols, like a story being written in my reality. It's no different to the metaphors and archetypes that show up in dreams. The algorithm explains all this.

"Or do you believe there are special connections between events? Do you notice a lot of coincidences and synchronicity?" she continued.

Of course, my mind replied. Everything is happening all at once, obviously. Everything is connected because everything is the same one thing; a lower-dimensional mathematical structure. The beginning is the end. The end is the beginning. It's Ouroboros: a snake eating its tail. It's all non-linear. Separation is an illusion. 'Random' is just deeply hidden order. Don't give in to her illogical 'scientific' materialist bullshit. You've deduced your paradigm from first principles, and she hasn't. You've thought for yourself. Her understanding of reality is wrong — not yours.

"Or do you feel at one with nature, with an increased appreciation for the beauty of the world?"

Always, my mind sighed. I can always feel the order in everything. Even my depression is ordered. Even me sitting here, on this couch, about to receive a diagnosis of 'crazy,' is ordered. I can feel the order in the chaos. It's always there. It's always magnificent. This oneness she talks about is just a description of the lower dimension. Just because I can take excursions to the implicate order and she can't, doesn't mean I'm mad.

The psychologist looked at me, expectantly.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I guess."

"And during these high periods, do you ever feel like you've been given an important mission to complete?"

Fuck.

How did she know that?

"In these high periods," she continued, "you may feel like you've been given special abilities or an imperative, grandiose task to undertake. You may even feel like it's your job to save the world."

Double fuck.

"Everything can feel urgent."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"So urgent," she continued, "that you may even write a book in three weeks and believe it's your God-given mission to broadcast it to the world."

Motherfucker.

I stared at her.

She looked at me with calm compassion. "People with your condition can sometimes struggle to distinguish the external world from their internal psychotic experience. It's not uncommon to experience delusions of grandeur, or fantastical beliefs about your own abilities. It's just your brain chemistry playing tricks on you."

Was I really that predictable? There I was, feeling like I was boldly charging forward, fulfilling my destiny in this life. There I was, thinking there was order in the chaos; that this depression was just another obstacle to overcome on my hero's journey. And there she was, telling me my grandiose ambition was just a bunch of chemicals fucking with my brain.

I didn't know what to believe anymore. I was so confused.

I took a deep breath. "What's wrong with me?" I asked.

I'd been waiting my whole life to know the answer.