Perfection for the Hypochondriac

I have no idea who reads this blog, well, I know one person who reads it regularly. Beyond that I do not know and I use a pen name so it may be that at this point I need to state that I have not felt physically well in a long time. Mentally is another matter all together. I have been diagnosed and found answers at times and I have had multiple symptoms that were not explained by tests of various kinds. I am not a hypochondriac. I have that on good authority from highly trained professionals. So...it is a little ironic and downright interesting that I am now diagnosed with a sickness that lists almost every symptom I have had over the past years. And, it is the perfect list for a hypochondriac...a hypochondriac's dream list. I have never heard of this sickness until now. I feel lousy, extremely depressed...well, look it up and read the list...I feel most of them and have for awhile now.

Hyperparathyroidism. I have it. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I have a big ole case of it. I am symptomatic, blood tested and scanned with 100% certainty. I am ecstatic. They have found a "something they can fix". Simple surgery with almost instantaneous results. Read about it. I ain't lying. The surgery is on the neck so that is a delicate place but these are technologically improved days so the surgery is quick, out patient and, per everything I read, positive results occur in less than hours. I may feel physically better than I have felt in years. I am stoked.

Meanwhile, I am depressed to the point of wondering if I need someone with me most of the time and I have the energy of a slug. I forget everything, names of things, where I was three seconds ago, haven't filed my taxes yet, cannot seem to organize two items on a table by themselves and am not sure I care. Bring on the surgery. You can cool believe I am ready for it!

And if you know a hypochondriac...show them the list...make their day!

Six Minutes To Ramble

Six minutes before signing on for work. An eternity if waiting for the surgeon to arrive with the news, good or bad. Six minutes that seemed like one minute when I was younger and playing outside at twilight with my friends. My mind is heavy with a need to go back to bed and rest. Doing a stream of consciousness has turned into doing a trickle of spacy. Six minutes are up. Jeez!

Toning It Down

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Numbness or Acceptance

It is late or early dependent on perspective. I will be brief. A pox on anyone who reads that part and laughs!

I find myself in a mode of response that I cannot define as either numbness or acceptance. In the midst of constant stress of mind and body I am calm. But the calm seems eerie. I do not feel a fight or flight response. Either I have achieved a significant milestone or I have, at long last, gone numb to daily stimuli. Answers elude me. Shock and awe of how difficult life can become illicit an action or a short-lived sting to my system. The response does not last. The waters close over the point where the stone made a splash, the resultant ripples widen out heading towards the shoreline of my psyche. They do no arrive. They do not disturb. 

Have I arrived or did the train run off the track a few miles back? I cannot say. An uncomfortable inertia holds me in this place. Numbness or acceptance? I dunno!

Temptation

 The slithering, seductive serpent of self-pity courted me this week. More time at the doctor's office, more medication, more restrictions, a bad tooth demanding a percentage of my attention and an all but empty wallet are fertile ground for thoughts of self-pity to flourish. The vile creature slithering ever closer need not waste energy setting me up by whispering doubts and fears in muted hissings. I had taken myself the first steps into the vortex of self-pity. The loathful serpent, tongue flickering ever closer to me, had a deeper intent, an ancient intent bathed in a hatred nurtured by the fires of hell. I stood teetering on the precipice of the vortex, soaking in the familiar moanings of "why me", "no hope", "no one cares". For an instant in time I gloried in the angst of my situation, my despair, my loss. I began to drop to a kneeling position at the altar of myself. The serpent's head hung swaying slighly from side to side. He felt a victory. He seemed to smile and thrust out his body in a posture full of pride and viral hatred. Ah, sly serpent of the damned. I was doing well enough on my own. You showed yourself in all your unholy confidence and, my soul, recognizing the truth in the revelation of your dark joy, cried out to Jesus. "Jesus, help me!" Jesus, help me!"

The vortex disappeared, the serpent slithered off, smaller now and broken for the moment. Self-pity slipped from my mind as a shadow fades in the light. Peace held court in my spirit. A vestige of the horrors I had courted hung for a moment in thoughts. I asked for forgiveness. Yes, the serpent of death met me on the path I had chosen but I chose the path. I chose to live outside of the love of my Father and take my own fate into my hands. Yet, my Father's love and eternal grace instantly covered my sin. He rescued me. He removed the filth of the sin. Again.

Wondering

I cannot help but wonder what possessed me to blow at least 13 years of my life on drugs, alcohol and any number of choices that stemmed from those habits. I don't stare at this line of questioning for long periods of time. Insanity lies at the heart of tearing apart the past to explain the future. Reaping the benefits of a life packed with extreme stress and mastering the art of being invisible is tough to accept. I wonder if anyone saw me and thought of interceding. There is the better than good chance that I would have run like a scalded dog. The "aha" moments in life follow suffering at one's own hands.Maybe it took every step of my journey to be who I am today. Indulging in believing I might have chosen another path had someone shouted out to warn me of the road ahead is deep  indulgence indeed. As I remember those days I remember that I was invested in the life I chose at the time. I also remember that I saw only the moment, felt only the consequence's of that moment, saw no tomorrow and had no plans past the here and now. Looking back I am amazed at the darkness I walked in, the tumbling, changing, ever evolving scenes of my life. Was innocence part of the equation? More than likely it was the scars of what I do not discuss here. More than likely I was numb yet brilliant in my masterful disguises. I believe there were a few people who caught a glimpse of me and, after some thought, turned away. I had an answer for everything. Through the morass of depression, despair, confusion and utter lonliness I stepped out in public as a woman without a care. Recently I found out that the world has not changed. Most folks don't see and, if they catch a glimpse, they find fault with me for having shown myself. I am not a victim. There are many people like me hiding in the shadows of what is not spoken. My anger and need to hurt myself through self-destructive choices have gone. But I wonder if someone had seen me way back in the day if I would have lent a ear.

The Comfort of Being Heard

One visit with my doctor rips denial from my grasp replacing it with a truth I find difficult to accept. All day I yearned for a calm, supporting conversation. I could not think of how to make that happen and, true to my nature, bowed to the solemn quiet place of solitude. I could not trust a conversation to be supportive when I run from my reality...a child running from a call to come inside and take my medicine.

 

There are times and places when I hang in a balance that is solely mine. I become Calvin with my own personal Hobbes. I find a quiet place to spend time together. A place deep within where I can talk and my Hobbes will listen.

Stop, Drop and Roll

Remember the routine to follow if you should ever find yourself on fire? Stop, Drop And Roll? I believe this would be an effective stress reliever when life becomes a wee bit too much and stress feels like a burning fire. I may try it next time I feel an overwhelming sense of pressure. At times folks say their stress is so high they feel as if their hair is on fire. So, if you see a woman looking distinctly like a coastal woman, and there is that look, y'all, if you see that woman stop in mid-step, drop to the ground and begin rolling back and forth; think of this post. At that moment you will know something no one else knows, that woman is not crazy and she is not on fire. She is stressed beyond her limit and her hair is on fire. Let her roll. Do not mistake this for a Pentecostal moment of divine fervor! Yes, she could be Pentecostal and from the coast. There is no divine event taking place at that particular moment. Well, maybe if she has her hair in a large bun on the top of her head. Should that be the case there is a tiny chance you are witness to a holy roller who has lost her sense of decorum and dropped into a passionate spiritual roll without processing her whereabouts. There is a .00010 percent chance this is the case. Well, if she is wearing a dress that is below her knees and covers her arms and is up to her neck and has on thick stockings and no make-up the percentage goes up significantly. Putting that aside as a rare event assume the rolling woman's hair is on fire from stress and let her roll. Lord knows she is worth it. As a famous country song says, "Just walk on by. Wait on the corner."