Everyone I have talked to says that blogging is good therapy. I guess that could be the case for me, but we shall have to wait and see. Before, it was used as a way to connect with my love, who was miles and miles from me. It was wonderful to wake up and read a new blog from him. It brightened my day and made me feel so loved. I felt complete after each entry. I hope that he enjoyed my blogs as much as I loved reading his.
We are going on 5 years now. They have been so difficult and full of hard times. Sometimes I felt as if I was being punished for some horrible misdeeds in a previous life. Karma was kicking my ass, daily. Sometimes things got so bad that I felt like I could barely breathe. Not my marriage though. My marriage has been fantastic. I couldn't have asked for a better man than him. As many times as I just wanted to scream "fuck the world" at the top of my lungs, I knew I could never do that. He grounded me. Gave me purpose. Made me feel alive. The bad portions usually had to do with money, or past personal mistakes I had made that had nothing to do with him. He should probably have run for the hills. I am not sure that I could have blamed him if he had.
Hmm, lets see... I suppose I should start by getting some of the bad crap off my chest. I think that getting it out there, letting it air out, opening the closets and exposing the skeletons is what I am needing right now.
Let me start with childhood. Until I reached 8, things were just fine. I had parents who I felt adored me. I had brothers and sisters who were awesome. I had everything a kid needed in life. Then the fighting and arguing started. I can't blame them for that. When you are not happy, you are just not happy. Things change, people change. Simple as that, I suppose.
My mom walked away and that is the first time I can remember that I wanted to kill myself. I was so little but I felt all these grown up emotions that I probably should have asked for help with. My pride and possibly my age stopped me from reaching out to anyone. I suppose it started to manifest into something quite different around that time. Something even worse than suicidal thoughts, in my opinion.
I started thinking about death, constantly. I thought about it while I was eating. While I was playing, while I was with friends, alone, even while I was doing homework or just sitting in class. My fascination with death went from wanting to die, to being terrified of it. Ah, my turn from normal to hypochondriac is probably one of the worst things I have ever done to myself. I let it build and build and it started to eat away at my sanity.
Here it is, 20 years later, and I am much the same. Sometimes, I can't live for thinking I am dying. That is some messed up stuff. Imagine walking through life terrified of something that you cannot possibly control. Will I get cancer? Leukemia? Will I die of some crazy blood disorder? My entire day is consumed with me worrying about my health. I know for a fact that I am a diabetic and it will eventually kill me if I don't take more care of it. BUT, the only thing I concern myself with is diseases I don't have. Crazy, I know. My thought process works a little like this: Wake up, have a bruise, assume I am dying of leukemia. Forget the fact that I know I ran into the table. Forget the fact that I am a diabetic and I bruise easily. I have leukemia, and I am dying.
Maybe it is the feeling of foreboding that I have always had, even as a kid. Maybe it is the fact that I have terrible luck in most areas of life. Maybe I am just bat-shit crazy. Who knows. Meds do not work. I get angry at myself and that pride kicks in. The pride screams at me "you have a good life. You are fine. Why can't you just be HAPPY, for fuck sake?" I get so mad at myself for being such a whiny bitch about it that I quit taking all the meds and then wonder why I feel so "blue" all the time. I have tried forums for hypochondriacs. Wow, that was a freaking bust. All we said to each other was "go get it checked out", not, "you are a hypochondriac. You are fine." We fed each others mental disorder and amped each other up. The diseases they had that I hadn't heard about? I got them. Symptoms? Check. CDC number on speed dial? Check.
Even today I have been following the new strain of bird flu in China. I keep thinking about how I will catch it and die and so will my family. I have checked the news numerous times today JUST to see how wide spread it is, what they are doing about it, how many people it has killed, etc.
My life is one sickness after another. One disease to the next. One fear then another. As horrible as it sounds, I would almost rather kill myself than wait to find out a diagnosis of something terminal. That is how bad it is. Who in the HELL thinks like that? Kill yourself BEFORE you catch something that will kill you? It is maddening and insanity all mixed into one. I am, quite literally, my own worst enemy. Call me Negative Nelly. I suppose that I have finally come full circle. Well, more like an oval. I am TERRIFIED of dying, obviously but I would finally have relief from what I go through daily.
Insanity? Check.
Now then, let me get to the part that REALLY gets to me. I suppose most people don't understand hypochondriacs. Most people just assume that we can "get over it" because it DOES seem so insane. A TON of hypos don't even KNOW they are hypos. Those are the ones that visit the hospital weekly and seem to thrive on pity. (It isn't their fault that they are not aware. They certainly are not doing it for pity's sake.) -- Then there are the people like me. The ones who DO know they have a mental illness. I often think it would be easier if I was unaware of the condition. Once again, my pride kicks my ass and I end up feeling stupid 9 times out of 10. Imagine that. KNOWING you are just a hypo and yet not being able to defeat it. It makes me feel weak and dumb and completely helpless. I don't know about how others feel about the issue, but that is just my take on it. I feel ridiculous.
My anxiety levels are through the roof right now. I can't tell you why. I suppose I have had a pretty rough week. (I was in a rather bad wreck on Easter Sunday).
Anyway, I will close out this blog by telling a little story about my personal battle with being a hypo.
I was in the shower a few months back and was washing my feet. That is when I noticed a strange line on my skin that was discolored. I immediately started freaking out and hyperventilating. Alligator tears followed and then I called my "rock" up to check out my skin cancer. Yep, I immediately thought I was dying of skin cancer. The hubby comes into the bathroom and inspects my feet with me. Bless him, he puts up with so much of my shit. He just sighed a little and told me to hurry up and we would go out to dinner and if it was bothering me in a few days, to go see my doctor. So, I got out, got dressed, threw on some make-up and tried to find my shoes. I hate wearing shoes, I would rather slide on some flip flops. I am down south in Georgia heat. Well, I ended up changing my mind about the shoes and found the trusty flip flops. As I slid them on, I nearly died with embarrassment. Those strange lines on my feet? Tan lines... Tan lines from the flip flops I love to wear so much. There you have it folks. There is just one of MANY stories of the times I was dying of some horrid disease, only to find out I was fine. I have so many of these stories, but I never remember them in my moments of panic. I ALWAYS assume the worst.
/Sigh
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