I now have "people"

I went to see a lawyer today. Interesting, to say the least. I couldn't get over how matter-of-fact they were about everyting. Its almost like they see divorcing people everyday. Then it ocurred to me...

As I sat there pouring my heart out to two complete (female) strangers, it struck me as odd how difficult it was to put in to terms why I left. I've been struggling with this off and on now for the last month. How do you tell someone you just don't like a person any more. It seems so petty and childish. Like I should say "nanny nanny boo boo" after it.

However, they seemed to get it (they being the paralegal and the attorney). I heard their respective stories about clients or their own personal divorce and they seemed like mine, just different. I guess in some ways its comforting to hear another's story, and, in some way, it makes me sad that I've become 'one of them'.

I never thought I be divorced. I mean, I dreamed up it for a long time but I never thought I'd actually leave. Let alone have a divorce lawyer.

Bring on the pain

I have the week off so I took the opportunity to stay with my son today. I also took the opportunity to respond to a letter my wife had written me. It was essentially a list of things she had 'failed' to do in our marriage. She had gift wrapped it and given it to me on Christmas eve. All along (this past month) I've been operating under the guise that I could provide her some normalcy during the holidays by not making too many changes.

I've tried to insulate her from my comings and goings, moving into the apartment, address changes, etc. I would also show up every morning to take my son to school. The idea being her schedule wouldn't have to change and neither would his. However, I'm thinking all this was a mistake. I won't bother giving details as to why I think this but, obviously, I was giving mixed signals.

That ended today. When I responded I laid things out very clearly that I was moving forward with the separation, that we should both get lawyers, how I wanted to work the finances, my prefered schedule with my son, etc. This was all in the hopes that she would get the picture. I'm so afraid of being hurtful and ruining our ability to be 'friendly if not friends' in front of our son, that I may have gone too far the other way.

I have an appointment with a lawyer in the morning. I will be as honest about everything as I can in hopes that she will better represent me. I asked the wife that she consider the fact that she knows what I make, and what I'm able to give, and that she chooses a past which is least costly in both financial and emotional terms.

I hope she does...

I hesitate to write this but, I need to tell someone. It also appears that my doctor called the house and left a message that one of the dosages of my medication needs to be changed based on the recent visit. I have it on pretty good authority that she purposefully didn't give me this message in an effort to...teach me a lesson, I guess.

In a way its completely forgivable because she's hurting and we don't make clear decisions when we hurt. But, this isn't a car payment or a message from a friend. This is a medical issue. She doesn't know what I take or why I take it and, as far as she knows, this is something to control my blood pressure or who knows what. Not to mention the fact that of all my 'issues' my health is by far the largest concern I have. To use that against me, in any way, no matter how small, seems unforgivable.

On that point, and I hope you'll understand this, I'd rather not receive any comments. I'm fully aware of the gambit of responses that could be given and I don't want to assign malice where there is none. I just needed to get it out there.

Thanks for listening.

Merry Christmas

That is all.

Mr. Clean tries to kill me

I was in the process of taking a shower (and for anyone else with compulsive tendencies, you know what I mean by process). I had just gotten to step 8 in the process. This comes after rinsing my hair and before turning the water off. This is basically the step were I stand under the shower and just waste water. Yeah, I said it, waste water.

Anyway. All of a sudden I get this odd taste in my mouth. Its something between Mr. Clean and lemon-aide. This, to say the least, was quite 'disconcerting'. For those who are unfamiliar with the less common usage of this word, the Oxford dictionary defines it as:

disconcerting |ˌdiskənˈsərti ng | adjective causing one to feel unsettled

There is also a little known usage:

disconcerting |ˌdiskənˈsərti ng | adjective causing one to freak the f&^k out

Turns out, this is the one I used. I'm not quite sure what I was thinking the cause of this could be. OK, I know exactly what I was thinking. Stroke. How I came to this conclusion
is quite simple. In medical school (read: Google) we learned the following:

• If its in your chest, its a heart attack
• If its lumpy, its cancer
• Anything else is a stroke

Its pretty basic stuff, really. So, when I had the odd taste I ran through the above checklist and, ta daaaa! Stroke. So, for at least 3 seconds I went through the standard checklist of things you can't possibly do when you have a stroke:

• Smile
• Move your fingers
• Move your toes
• Roll your eyes
• Say your name

having passed all of these tests I went about my way drying off. Once I walked out of the bathroom I saw the bottle I had used on my bike ride this morning half-full of lemon-aide flavored... Hmmm, coincidence? Could be.

And the drama begins

I've debated seriously for some time about posting this. Even as I type it I keep telling myself that I will most likely delete it before its posted. I really fear many of you will lose respect for me even though, personally, I am happier each day about the decision. So, here goes.

I've met someone.

Wow, that was a little scary to type. The someone is a friend of mine that was helpful in making decisions lately. She is pretty much the same age, same socioeconomic (yeah, check that word out!) status, and is divorced with two children who are roughly the same age as my son. I feel the need to go back and state this for my benefit and yours. We in no way, neither expressed nor implied, had anything other than a platonic friendship before I left my wife. I can't stress this enough.

I think the reason I can't stress this enough is because, in a way, I'm trying to convince myself that I didn't leave my wife for another woman. I've said it before, I know I left her for "somebody" but, even now, I'm content in knowing that I didn't leave for a specific person. However, I think I might have left her for someone like this.

Now, before you fire up your keyboards telling me about rebounds, about how soon it is, about how I don't really know what I want, let me say that I know. I know all of that. I'm aware that this has little chance of working out in the long run. But, in some way, I know that this, whatever it is, feels really right.

Besides the boost in ego that I might actually be capable of loving and being loved again, there's something to be said for not being lonely while your...well...lonely. All the advice I get says that I should 'take some time to figure out who I am' which sounds good, but, in reality I don't understand. I mean, I know who I am, it says so on my license. So lets assume they mean so I can figure out what I really want.

That's easy. To be happy. This person is making me very happy.

Maybe it is too soon. Maybe I'm putting myself in danger of a difficult divorce if the wife finds out. Maybe I will just end up hurting myself and this person. But, the whole reason I left was because I believed (and still believe) that taking a chance on finding someone new was worth leaving my life as I know it. I just didn't expect to meet someone so soon or that that person might be someone I already knew.

Life has a funny way of working out. Of course, it also has a funny way of crashing in fiery balls of death. This could get interesting...

How would I know when to panic?

I just had to link this one

MONTREAL — A 65-year-old Quebec man who received a new long-term mechanical heart last month is being described as the only living Canadian without a pulse.

Touche, Lacy, touche

I was schooled on the fact that I had been derelict in my duties as a reciprocal commenter on others' blogs. So, to your quid pro quo I say, "mea culpa". I immediately went comment crazy on some blogs and the karma kicked in yesterday. Anywho.

This weekend was a little rough. The parents came in and stayed at the house with the wife. This is awkward to say the least. My mom has been great but is obviously troubled by all this. She's never been a touchy feely person but all weekend she would put her hand on on me or squeeze a shoulder, rub my cheek, or something. On a somewhat related note, I had another conversation with the wife. Nothing new to report. After our talk I hugged her and she just cried for a while.

I say these are related because I noticed an odd thing with both of them. I felt cold. There was no emotion other than the empathy you have when you see someone hurting. And, in both cases, I wanted to run. I couldn't stand the contact from my mother and I kept waiting for the hug to end with the wife.

This is not like me. I'm an affectionate person, usually. I'm sure there's some root cause to this. Maybe I'm not dealing with some issue and the contact is bringing that up and I'm panicking. I'm more than a little worried that I'll come off as cold for saying these things in public but, in reality I feel cold. And I believe in calling a spade a spade.

Right now, I'm a spade.

Where ma peeps at?

I'm lonely with so few comments lately. Not sure why considering I write this for myself but its nice to know people are out there. Of course, I see people looking at the site (I track it with Google Analytics)

Anyway, I had a bit of an episode the other day. I forgot to take my medication until very late two days in a row. That is extremely odd for me. The first day seemed like no big deal. I just took it at like 6PM (instead of my usualy 8AM) and went on about my business. The next day wasn't so easy. I remembered at 4PM and took it then. This got me. I immediately started feeling like my head was throbbing while walking up the stairs to my office. Not a good time.

I'm not sure what I was expecting to happen. Maybe I thought I was going to have a heart attack...or maybe
I was just walking up a flight of stairs. Either way, it scared me. Its the first time that's happened in a while. I've been so pre-occupied with everything else I haven't had time to worry about whether my wrist was throbbing too much or if that spot on my lip was cancer or some cereal from breakfast. Idle minds are the hypochondriacs workshop.

On the other front, things are going well. I've moved in to an apartment (the room mate moves in tomorrow) and got some furniture delivered. Its starting to feel like home. Of course, my car started to feel like home.

Maybe I have a distorted sense of home...

What is forever?

By definition, 'forever' is a long time. The idea of staying with someone or "sticking something out" forever has come up a lot recently in various aspects of my life. Right now it seems like its a little hypocritical to say I could be with someone forever. Obviously, I made that promise to someone and I broke it. At least, in a semantic way if not in practice.

The question is, can you really be expected to love someone, unconditionally, to your own detriment if necessary, forever. The question here isn't weather you can stay married forever. Its obvious that people, quite happily, spend their lives together "forever".

The question I have is, in a situation, like mine, or many others, should you stay together. Is it healthy to change who you are completely for another person? I'm not talking about picking towels up off the floor, or chewing with your mouth closed, I mean changing the essence of your being in an effort to please another person.

Should you change religions, vote Democrat when you're a Republican, endorse capital punishment when you're a pacifist, have an abortion when you're pro-life, become a recluse when you're a social person, etc.? Maybe the changes we ask of each other aren't this grand. Maybe we're never even asked to make these changes so much as believing that this is what the other person needs to be happy with me.

Forever is a funny word. When we promise it we really only mean until we die. A short time, by all accounts, but all the time we have. Its a promise not to take lightly and one, right now, I'm not certain we fully comprehend when we chose to make it.

I'm officially living in a fully functional babe lair

OK, so its not official, it definitely isn't fully functional, and the only babe will probably be my room mate's cat. But, I signed a lease on my apartment and bought a bed and will have it delivered tomorrow. This may not seem like much to most of you but I moved out of my parents' house and into the apartment with my wife. I've never lived on my own. Not really.

I'm excited and shit scared (that's a word here in the south) all at the same time. I saw the wife again today. The house is litteraly covered (OK, not litteraly...) in self-helo marriage books, little notes about how we can work it out, notes she's taken, print-outs from the Internet, all kinds of stuff. Most of it is strategically placed where I'll see it.

This was both of our M.O.'s. Passive aggression, or passive passiveness, was how we co-existed for so long. Instead of making overt gestures we relied on signs, Morse code, and semaphore to tell each other what we were thinking, feeling, or wanted. It didn't work then and, frankly, it pains me even more to see it now. This is how I know nothing has changed. The fact is if she wanted to change it would take lots of time, patience, and be organic. Not from a book about men being "spaghetti" and women being fruitcakes or something.

I admire her for trying so hard, I really do. And it warms my heart (after all these years) that she values me enough, now, to work this hard. But honestly, how long can this go on? How long until the post-its disappear, before the books get put on a shelf, before the nice comments stop coming...?

Is it worth going through this all over again? Is it worth living in fear of going through this all over again? So far, the answer is no.

Gee that's tiny

I got an apartment today. That's a big step for me. I've never lived on my own. I'm getting a room mate but that's still different. This is a little nerve-racking. I think as much as I've felt that my wife isn't dealing with our separation, I've begun to realize that I haven't been either.

I'm many ways my life hasn't changed. I still go to work, class, out with friends, to see my son, etc. Even though I'm sleeping in a different place it just hasn't quite sunk in that I've really left. In some ways I've been thinking about doing this for years and now its finally happened. I think I'm almost as shocked at myself as she was.

Anyway. I'm about to get some vulture shock. Moving from a 3100 square foot house to a 1000 square foot apartment with a room mate is gonna be a big change. I still think I'm up to it but, we shall see.

I get the workup

Today was my 6 month doctor's appointment. As you may have read previously I usually freak the f&^k out at least 1 week before this day. The pattern is something like this:

7 days out:

My calendar notifies me with Darth Vader's theme song. I panic a little but take solace in the fact that I could die before the appointment. Here's hoping!!!


6 Days out:

I get butterflies. And by butterflies I mean queasy. And by queasy I mean sick.

5 days out:

I start thinking of ways to cancel and still get my meds.

4 days out:

Oh my god oh my god oh my god

3 days out:

I get all my afairs in order

2 days out:

Praying, lots of praying. And alcohol. You'd think these would be mutually exclusive but desperate times call for desperate measures.

1 day out:

It can only be described as the sensation you might feel if confronted by a three headed dragon while standing naked in front of a crowd of strangers, giving a speech on nuclear physics.


But, today wasn't so bad. I got there early, got right in, checked the BP (130/60...weird but good I guess.) I also ended up getting the super-d-duper cholesterol test again and an EKG. Normally all of this would have given me a panic attack but it was OK. I'm assuming its because I have bigger fish to fry. We'll see if it lasts.

At some point I will get my test results back and then, look out!

Out, damn spot!

It finally sunk in today. The people I'm staying with said I can only stay another week. This, in and of itself, is no problem. I completely understand that you don't want a guy living in your guest room for weeks on end. The hard part is that I have nowhere to go.

Not in the sense that I'll sleep on the street or can't afford an apartment, that's not the case at all. I have plenty of friends and enough money. No, I mean that at this point in my life, I have no home. This was expected, of course. I knew on some level i'd have to get my own place and move stuff and do all the things grown ups do when they make grown up decisions.

Its just that all at once I became fully aware of the gravity of the situation. I think somehow this past week has been like a slumber party. Just hanging out with friends, laughing, watching TV, eating, whatever. At some point though, I have to be alone with my thoughts, with my actions, and with the repercussions. That's a daunting thought.

I think I've lined up a room mate which will be helpful but in a way I think that's just a way to keep from having to be alone. Maybe I'll find my own place. Maybe it would be good to be alone for a while. I'm not even sure I know who I am at this point. Maybe I can find myself in a 1 bedroom efficiency overlooking a parking lot.

Ouch

"The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves."
Sophocles (496 BC - 406 BC), Oedipus Rex

I just got back from my wife's house. That's sounds odd just saying it. Funny thing is, my mom was there. I may not have ever mentioned it but my parents live 3 hours away and my wife has never thought that was far enough. My parents have always been a source of contention in our relationship. I'm by no means a momma's boy. As a matter of fact, we can go months without even talking. Not because we don't like each other we just don't have anything to say. Growing up, it was just me and her and I think, on some level, we had enough of each other for a while. But I digress (regress?)

I had called my mom and left a message yesterday afternoon and asked that she call me on my cell phone. I'm not sure what transpired next but somehow she talked to the wife and was told that I had left. Apparently she was in the car not much later driving down.

Today it became real. Up to now the only people that "knew" were some close friends, my wife, and her mother. Now its "out". My mom was great about not butting in except to ask the questions she should be asking.

"When and how will you see your son?"

"How can you afford to live apart?"

"Have you thought about counseling?"

These were "easy" questions. The hard one was "why is this happening?" How do you explain years of inner struggle, feeling alone even when you're in the same room with someone, resentment for someone you love dearly, etc.? Of anyone she might now. She's divorced also. But, her husband (not my dad) hit her. For her (and this isn't common) leaving him was the easy choice.

I had gone to the house to spend time with my son and to tell the wife that I was going to get separation papers. This went exactly as I had expected. Its probably the hardest she's cried yet.

I felt cold. numb. guilty.

She apologized again, said we could try different things, that like when a person dies, you don't realize how valuable life is until its gone. And then she said exactly what I was thinking. That after a while, you forget to appreciate life again and you go back to the old routine.

This is the most apt anology I have come across yet. Our friendship has died and, even though we could get it back for a time, you can't raise the dead. And you can't go home again.

Warning. This post has no plot.

I haven't sung in a long time. I'm really not that good of a singer but, in my car, I'm a god. I used to sing a lot. Maybe its a sign of happier days to come. Maybe its a sign of not wanting to sit in my car and think.

I used to be very into music. I play guitar and had aspirations to be in a band. Not that I could have, mind you, but I wanted to. Over the years I attempted it a few times but I rarely had any support to "follow my bliss" so to speak. I can't really blame her for that though. I know I made the decision to get married and support us with a good job. It'd be unfair to do otherwise.

But, even so, what would I have done otherwise? Honestly, I'm not that good. Maybe good enough to play rhythm in a good band or a studio player but I wasn't going to be Keith Richards (turns out I'm allergic to heroin and being dirty...who knew). In reality I was probably saved from years of struggling as a musician only to have my dreams crushed and spend the rest of my years jaded.

OK, so it didn't turn out all that different anyway... Just kidding. I don't expect I'll be a musician even now that things have changed (are changing). I think all the years I spent resenting not being able to play music were really just misdirected frustrations about my marital problems. I'm not a fan of the idea that all mental problems are a manifestation of some deep=seeded misery. Some people are just nuts.

I don't know that I can blame my hypochondria on her. I don't know that I should. I know that I feel better lately but, then again, I've been feeling well for quite some time. Maybe I'm just distracted. Hypochondria seems to thrive you you have nothing better to do.

And now I'm rambling.


Hey, I ain't never coming home.
Hey, I'll just wander my own road.
Hey-hey, I can't meet you here tomorrow - no, no.
Say goodbye don't follow -
Misery so hollow.

-Alice In Chains

Apparently I ate a pot brownie

Oh, to not begin with anything.
Shaft of a light. A warm breath and a scream.
Tamper if you like between the doors.
Can't expect to go out, to go out with anything more.

-Pearl Jam

The only thing assured in life is death. To most, this is a call to follow your bliss. To a hypochondriac this is proof that we should be freaking out RIGHT NOW! But, if its true that life is a journey, not a destination, then why isn't the destination worthy of the journey?

I mean, who would walk through a rain forest to get to a scorched desert? Who would walk down a beautiful beach to find rain? You'd never make that destination if the journey was all that great.

Maybe the lesson is that because life is a destination, we should enjoy the journey. Its more like walking down the hall in school when you're sent to the principle's office. That is the slowest you will ever walk in your entire life. You'll stop to inspect every brick, read every poster, and drink from every fountain.

I don't know where I'm going here. Lately, I've decided that I've been so focused on the journey that I've missed the fact that I'm hurdling toward the destination faster than ever before. Maybe hypochondria is a blessing in disguise. We, of all people, are fully aware at all times what is at stake. In many ways, that makes us luckier than most.

Hope springs eternal, and sometimes a leak

I belted out an entire record of Pearl Jam's today. Not the sort of tap your feet, hum along, whistely belt-out. We're talking full-on rock star, "Alright Cleveland, are you ready to rock!?" belting. It was cathartic.

Today felt better. Not good, better. Friday will be one week since I've left. One week of feeling guilty, of having conversations I didn't want to have, of not seeing my son every day, of not...having a purpose.

But today, I had a purpose. Things happened today, for whatever reason, that have reaffirmed my belief that I made the right choice for me, and for my family. On the surface that is a self-serving statement. One that makes me feel better about myself, about the choices I made, and the people I hurt. But I also believe its a truth. That, over time, my family will be happy, even if not living in the same house.

12 years ago I made a commitment to my wife. To love, honor, cherish, take out the trash, feed the dogs, and water the lawn. I think I can honor those commitments. Maybe not in a traditional way, but in a more sincere way. In a way that lets me be me. An Eddie Vedder in training.


Lives opened and trashed...
look ma, watch me crash...
No time to question...whyd nothing last...
Grasp and hold on...hold tight and fast...
Soon be over...and I will relent...

Let the ocean swell, dissolve way my past
Three days, and maybe longer, wont even know Ive left

Let the sun climb, oh, burn way my mask
Three days, and maybe longer, shed my skin at last...

-Pearl Jam

Its quiet, too quiet

Surprisingly absent during this whole ordeal are any new "symptoms". I've always been under the impression that stressful events precipitate my problems. But not in this case.

Maybe its too early to tell but I don't feel differently, physically anyway, than I did on Thursday. And, to boot, I even felt good on Thursday. Considering the holidays last year were the worst two months of my life, that's saying a lot.

Maybe, though, the reason is that this is just a distraction. I've been so focused on marital issues that I haven't had time to look for cancers or listen to my eyes move (that's my favorite one).

So, we'll see how it goes. I'm still on the meds and trying to kep myself busy. At some point, though, I'll have a quiet moment and we'll see what my brain decides to do with the down time.

Did a lot more talking yesterday. It felt...numb. Like I couldn't care enough to...care. I know that's not the case. At least, I hope its not. I still deeply care for her. In a way that I'll never be able to care for another person. But at some point I've had to detach myself.

Maybe its a defense mechanism, maybe its what happens when you get "cold", maybe its just who I am. I want so much to believe that we can work it out but the same part of me that turns on to prevent a panic attack or gets me out of thinking I have a swollen ear lobe has "clicked on".

I think meditation and just plain old soul searching has given me at least a small ability to be rational when I normally wouldn't be. But , I guess, the question is, "Is this really the time to be rational?".

Maybe in matters of the heart you should be purely emotional. Purely emotional Dave would be running through a field of daisies toward my wife with a sappy Rod Stewart (yes, Rod Stewart) song playing. Rational Dave is running the other way. Rational Dave is leaving his wife of 12 years. The woman he's known in some form or another for a full two thirds of his life.

Rational Dave may be an ass but right now he has control. We'll see where he takes us.

P.S. The entire last sentence was typed by Felicitous Dave. Rational Dave's hours are between 3PM and 9PM EST. Duplicitous Dave and Vivacious Dave may also be reached at this location.

The Day After

I'm staying at a friend's house. They're being really good to me, as good friends always are. I went to the house today to check on the wife and child. We hung out, went and got McDonald's and went to the park.

That was all uneventful enough. When our son went down for a nap she wanted to talk some more. It seemed like she went through all the stages of grief in the span of an hour. There was denial when I got there. The house had been cleaned and she was trying to look happy. This hurts.

There was bargaining. "What if we just set a date for one month away and if it doesn't work then that's that" and various other compromises.

Anger. She was visibly angry. She says not at me but at herself for messing everything up. Of course I told her this wasn't the case and that we can't regret who we are.

I can't remember the other two stages. I can sum them up for you though. I feel like shit. This is the reaction I expected from her. It was obvious that I caught her by complete surprise. This, to me, only cements what I've believed to be true. That while we're deeply in love, we aren't friends and we don't "care" about each other.

Not the sort of caring where you worry if someone doesn't call or drop everything and rush to the hospital when one gets bitten by say...I don't know...fire ants. The sort of caring that makes you excited when the other person does well and sad when they don't. The kind of caring that lets you see what the other person needs and provide it without being asked.

Maybe this kind of caring doesn't exist. Maybe it does.

I think in the end she understands my point and sees that I'm not being difficult and that I'm not blaming her. I hope, in the future, that we can become friends. Maybe someday, more than friends. That's not to say I'm changing my mind, just to say that I believe in the ability of people to change once they truly see that they can.

Its done

She took it better than expected.

It was much harder than I expected.

I'm with some friends right now, I'll keep everyone posted when I get some time.

Happy Thanksgiving

I'm here at the in-laws for the day (yippie...). They aren't bad as in-laws go. They just aren't 'my kind of people' and, generaly speaking, I'm not there's either. But we get along.

I've spent the day mostly in silence. I'm trying to be as sociable as I can but that's not saying much. I've also been trying to treat this like 'the last thanksgiving' just to see what it feels like.

Funny, last time I was here I thought it was my last Christmas ever. Of course that's because I was 'dying' of a heart attack.

Anyway, considering my circumstances this is a pretty good Thanksgiving. I hope ya'll's (yes, that's a word) is a happy one, too.

Should I stay or should I go

The question was posed, "Do I think leaving will make me happy?". The simple answer is, no. It will make me very sad in the short term.

But a very good friend has also clued me into the fact that I know I'm not happy now. If I stay in this situation I know the outcome. If I make a change, I don't know the outcome but at least its not 100% assured.

Its like being given a 10% chance. If you have a 100% chance of dying without a certain treatment and a 90% chance with, isn't that worth it?

Again, I really appreciate the comments. Between you, my online friends, and the one or two people "in the flesh" that I've talked to about this I'm having to answer a lot of questions I would have never asked.

That sort of transparency in a thought process is rarely available to me.

The art of saying nothing

This is yet another non-hypochondria post. If I keep doing this I may have to start another blog or "re-purpose" this one. I had hoped this blog wouldn't turn into yet another way for me to be a narcissist but then, isn't that really what blogging is about? But I digress.

It is the day before Thanksgiving. I'm trying to help me and my family retain some semblance of a holiday season by not breaking my "news" until after the New Year.

Ostensibly (that's at least 3 $1 words so far) this is to prevent having any sort of negative impact on holidays to come. I'd rather not have Thanksgiving or Christmas be the "anniversary" of our separation (assuming it occurs).

The problem is, its obvious to anyone, especially my wife, that I'm depressed. Or, at least, not myself. So I find myself practically hiding out to prevent the inevitable question from occurring.

"Is everything OK?"

Over the years, due to my other issues, my wife has grown desensitized to my being in a funk. This is a good thing. For long periods throughout our marriage I would have the classic depression symptoms. Lack of appetite, lack of sex drive, desire to sleep all day, unwillingness to go places or see people, etc. (Like I said, my wife by no means the only one at fault in this marriage.)

She used to ask what was wrong all the time. I started out by answering with my most recent diagnosis. "I have Multiple Sclerosis". At which point she'd start crying. Then a week later "I have lung cancer". More crying.

At some point, she, rightly so, gave up on this. Only after weeks of being in a slump would she ask what was wrong. I learned that my answers should be measured and in vague terms as to prevent her worry and to keep from patronizing myself.

At this point, though, we can go days without even talking to one another before she seems to notice there's anything wrong. Its been days.

Now I'm worried that the question will come and wondering how I should answer. Part of me wants to lie to prevent spoiling Thanksgiving or Christmas. Part of me wants to "get it over with" for fear I'll weaken in the coming months and just live with it.

So today's rhetorical question is, "Am I really protecting her by waiting?"

Common sense says yes. It would be impossibly awkward to have to deal with holidays and relatives knowing we were splitting up and either trying to look happy or, worse, dealing with the knowing looks of our family who, 15 years ago, told us we were stupid to get married.

Why couldn't I have been born a Canadian Jew?

I'm still a hypochondriac and don't you forget it!

I finally figured out a way to tie it all in. I had this thought last night. What if I do...change my situation...and I die before I'm happy? Like what if I have a heart attack from all the stress and never get to be happy? Or what if I choke on my Fruity Pebbles and there's no one to give me the Heim...Hyml..H... No one to tell me to raise my hands above my head and pat me on the back?

It will definitely go on my con list.

Wax On Wane Off

Just like a normal bout of "hypochondria" (as if it was a cold) today I'm better. Not happy. Better. I'm not depressed but I'm not going to fool myself into thinking that it was just a "spell". I still spent the entire evening by myself watching TV having said only a few passing words to my wife.

I found myself spending extra time playing with my son, reading a book, taking him to breakfast, all on the precept that I won't have much time to spend with him. This is sad but, somehow, the decision seems to give me some peace.

Not that the decision is made but more that I'm "deciding to decide". Its like one person recommended that I try to live with each decision for a week and see how it feels.

Seems like good advice. Along with everything else everyone has said. Thanks.

My rhetorical questions for today

Things that are going through my mind today:

What if I make the right decision for the wrong reason?

What if I make the wrong decision for the right reason?

How do I balance my list of 'pros' to another's list of 'cons'?

When is a promise too much to bear?

Is a zero-sum game fair?

Is it really even zero-sum; can it be a negative-sum?


I'm not looking for answers (but they're welcomed) just giving insight.

You guys rock

I appreciate the support. Its interesting that the Internet is so often maligned and blamed for the decline of interpersonal relationships. It seems to me there's a whole support structure out there waiting to be tapped and, for the first time, isn't bound by distance.

I also appreciate you sharing your personal situations. It takes just as much to do that in a comment as it does to write a post. Again, thanks.

Fair warning, this ain't funny.

I'll warn you now. This post has nothing to do with being a hypochondriac. And it probably won't be very funny. But, I need to write it somewhere and this blog has always been very helpful to me.

I've been married for 12 years. We met in 7th grade, started dating in high school, got married a year after high school. We have a nice house, one beautiful boy, two dogs, and a bunch of "stuff". And I'm considering a divorce.

That is a heavy statement. For anyone who's never had to write it, imagine writing something like "my father died" or "I have cancer". It's heavy. When you write it it hits the keyboard with a thump. It just hangs there. So much so that you have to check to make sure you wrote it.

Let me go back a bit and say that I've never been unfaithful. Not once. I've never even propositioned another woman, let alone touched one, in the 14 years I've been with my wife. And, to my knowledge, neither has she. I've never struck her, I never raise my voice and I'm never belligerent. And, on all those points, neither is she.

So why contemplate divorce? Well, because in short, I'm not happy. This is why I write this here and not some other random blog. I haven't been happy in years. I'll spare you the reasons why. Just know that they are varied and, seemingly to the outside observer, petty. But, like the protagonist in "The Cask of Amontillado" (surprised I've read?), "The thousands of injuries...I've bared as best I could..." have gotten to me.

So, back to the point. I'm not happy. But here's the real problem. I have problems with depression. I always have. So here's the question. "How do I know I'm not just depressed?" What's to say I'm not in a down turn and this is just another "what if"?

What if the cause of my depression is my marriage?

What if i leave her and I'm alone forever?

What will happen to my son?

What will happen to her? (I do still love her.)

What if this is a mid-life (or 1/3 life) crisis and I really just need to buy a Corvette?

What if I make a mistake and regret it forever?

What if I do nothing and regret it forever?

The what if engine doesn't only strike during periods of anxiety. Its always there. Maybe in this case its beneficial. This isn't something to be taken lightly.

I don't suspect I'll talk about this much. I hope that, like my other problems, I'll wake up one day and feel a little bit better. I know some of you are religious so, if you'd mention me to your favorite deity, I'd appreciate it.

Once interesting point. I actually took my blood pressure today just to take my mind off of this. It didn't work, blood pressure was great. Funny how that works. When you need anxiety, its just not there...

My hurts

Apparently there aren't many sites on the Internet that deal in either spleen or uvula pain. This is evident by the number of hits I get daily requesting information on said maladies.

So for those of you who've come here looking for information on diseases of the Uvula, I'll direct you here:

Diseases of the Uvula

And for the spleenicly deficient:

Spleen Diseases


I love being able to use my google-powers for good.

Two words: "Make up your damn mind"

OK, that's more than two words. Maybe I should have said "words evenly divisible by two"... Today, I read this:

November 14, 2006 -- Put this in your fry basket: The American Heart Association opposes Mayor Bloomberg's plan to ban trans fat in restaurants - breaking ranks with most health advocates.

"The American Heart Association is concerned that the ban of trans fat in restaurants in its current form may not be the best course of proposed action," the medical group said in written testimony obtained by The Post.

"We are concerned that there is the potential for unintended and adverse consequences, such as restaurants returning to the use of oils high in saturated or animal-based fat if healthier oils are in short supply," the association's Megan Lozito told the city Board of Health.

"These unhealthy substitutes also pose important health risks."

This is exactly what's wrong with the medical profession. OK, maybe not exactly, I mean, there's tongue depressors and digital rectal exams, but you know what I mean. Here we have an organization that says "Trans-fats are bad". Then someone goes out on a limb to ban them and they say "The alternative to trans-fats are bad".

Exactly what is being accomplished here? If I was Michael Bloomberg I would seriously consider flying to the headquarters of the AHA and pimp slapping the white coat off of the joker that gave this press release.

If trans-fats weren't the worst thing we could eat but not the best, then say that. But based on all the hoopla over the last year I am fully expecting to die of a coronary the next time I eat my toast with margarine.

White and nerdy

Not much to report today. As my hero and moral mentor, Ice Cube, once said "Today was a good day". Of course I also think he said something about doing rather impolite things to a police officer...maybe I should pick another mentor.

The new look

I've made changes. It became apparent that the color-scheme of the blog was depressing. Either that or I became depressing and decided to blame it on the color scheme. Either way, I changed it. I promise, the content will still be as depressing as before.

Ooops

I realized last night about 5 minutes after I typed my last post that I hadn't taken my medication that day. If you've been with me for any period of time you'll know that this is usually a cause for great consternation. That's assuming I know what "consternation" really means. At first glance it looks like a group of stars that have trouble going to the bathroom... But, I digress.

I realized this as I was brushing my teeth. I think I hit all the stages of grief as I came to this realization:

Denial - "That can't be. I never forget my meds."

Anger - "I am such a dork!"

Bargaining - "Maybe I can just take it now and everything will be alright."

Depression - "Why am I freaking out about this? I thought I was 'better'... This is so sad. If I wasn't going to have a stroke from the high blood pressure, I'd shoot myself."

and finally:

Acceptance - "I'll just go to bed and die now. Lord, take me home."


Of course, I didn't die. At least, I hope not. 'Cause I didn't read anywhere in the Bible about blogging. I guess I survived. It was a restless night and there were a few phantom "chest pains" and "almost-heart attacks" but, I made it. This only proves that vigilance is the price you pay for "health".

Even for a second I let my guard down and something small crept in and made me question my health and, literally, my sanity.

You heard it here first!

See! I told you!

David Batty and agencies
Friday November 10, 2006
Guardian Unlimited

Doctors in doubt about a patient's ailment could use Google to help them reach a diagnosis, researchers said today.

Two Australian doctors have found that entering the symptoms of a tricky case into the internet search engine often results in accurately diagnosing the illness.

They put Google to the test by entering the symptoms of 26 difficult cases recorded in the New England Journal of Medicine into the search engine to see how accurate an aid to diagnosis it was. And in 58% of cases using the search engine led to the correct diagnosis.

I don't know why I find this a positive thing. I really should be freaking out at the fact that google might be right half the time and I actually have hemochromomyoencephelocitis because my eyebrows twitch occasionally.

I can't imagine this will be beneficial the next time i go symptom surfing.

Today is another day

Or maybe yesterday is another day...or something. Its 1:11AM at the time if this writing. I've just finished looking over my benefits for next year or, more to the point, deciding how much money I will give my doctor to tell me I will die...eventually.

Just a random blurb. I really appreciate the comments you guys (and gals) leave. I can't tell you enough how much it helps to know we're not alone (and we're not). I was thinking on the way home from my martial arts class about something the instructor said. He was giving me a sort of pat on the back and made mention to the class that I'm always relaxed under pressure.

Funny thing is that I'm usually a wreck of adrenaline and uncertainty in those classes. Much like during 'attacks'. To most people (maybe everyone except my wife) I seem normal. I usually get remarks about how 'even-keeled' I am (ahoy, shape the mizzenmast and hoist the main sail). But, I'm usually a flurry of what-ifs and my mind is racing 100 miles an hour.

Maybe normal people are the same way. Maybe what looks like calm and collected is really fear uncertainty and doubt. I sure hope so. It might be mean but it'd sure make me feel better to know I'm more normal than I think I am.

P.S. While spell-checking the above it pointed out that I typed "marital arts" instead of "martial arts"...Freud would be proud.

I spoke too soon

After my little "I'm so healthy I'm sick" schpeel (i have no idea how to spell it) yesterday I knew I was in danger... I just didn't expect it so quickly. This morning as I was sitting in my fortress of solitude (spelled b-a-t-h-r-o-o-m) I "noticed" my heart beat felt "weird". For those of you like me those two words - 'noticed' and 'weird' - are the hallmarks of an ensuing freak-out.

The dictionary defines 'weird' as:

adjective
suggesting something supernatural; uncanny : the weird crying of a seal.
• informal very strange; bizarre : a weird coincidence | all sorts of weird and wonderful characters.
• archaic connected with fate.

I define 'weird' as:

noun
The state a vital organ or system enters precisely 5 minutes before death.

Examples of weird things might be heartbeats, eye twitches, feeling cold, feeling hot, feeling happy, sad, anxious, calm, or really, any feeling whatsoever that you happen to 'notice' at that moment.

Its really inconcequential what you're 'noticing'. Its much more important that it was noticed because, as we all know, any new sensation equals impending doom. Even, oddly enough, feelings of impending doom equal impending doom (a heart attack).

As quickly as I felt the heartbeat it was gone. I freaked a little bit and it all came in. I went from (alleged) odd heartbeat to who will raise my son in a matter of 5 minutes.

I was able to meditate this morning and that seemed to at least slow down the what-if stuff. We'll see how it goes from here on out.

Being healthy is making me...unhealthy

I've always had a bit of a weight problem. At least as far back as I can remember I've been a little heavy. Not obese (at least, not grossly) but not skinny either. Of course, if you were to ask the government I'm somewhere between obese and morbidly obese. Of course, so is Arnold Schwarz...you know who I mean.

After my last episode which was about a year ago, I got down to probably the lightest weight I've ever been. This was mostly due to my inability to eat for fear of ingesting one-too-many grams of salt and dying of an aneurysm. And then, through the summer, I stayed at that weight through exercise and good clean livin...ok...through exercise.

Now that its the 'off season' I'm not riding near as much and I'm gaining it back. The wife and I were talking today about going off our meds to lose weight.

Its sad really. Its like we have to choose between mental health and physical health. I'll try and diet more and exercise more but the reality is, I'm just not worried enough about it to do anything.

Its one of those problems like too much money or too many women that just don't seem like problems to those without.

Oh chili, how I hate thee

We had a chili cook-off today at work. Me being a vegetarian I didn't think I'd have an issue. Especially since I'd be eating only my own recipe. Turns out the problem wasn't the chili it was the cake, cookies, brownies, potato chips, cheese, corn bread, more brownies, some sort of key-lime concoction, more brownies and lord knows what else.

Ugh.

Chocolate = cancer

I have a tendency to "notice" things. By noticing something I mean that all of a sudden I'm freaked out by things like, oh I don't know, looking at my own face in a mirror, or become aware that I'm breathing. You know, odd things.

For example, today I "noticed" that I had a brown spot between my eyes on the bridge of my nose. For a moment I panicked. Was this a liver spot, a spontaneous bruise, a sore, skin cancer?

I then licked my finger and rubbed it and it came off.

This is hypochondria at its finest. I am afraid of a chocolate mark on my forehead.

Events of my death are greatly under-reported

So there I was...surrounded by ninjas...would you beleive, a group of angry girl scouts? OK, I'm just lazy. I try not to use this space as my "personal" blog. Meaning, I don't come on here and spill my guts about political issues, human injustice, the price of gasoline, how the Bolshevic Revolution was neith Bolshovic nor a revolution, etc.

So you can by my lack of posts that things are well. This is usually the part of the year where I have the most issues. I'm thinking, at this point, its the drugs. This is by far the longest I've ever taken anything. At the time of this writting (man that sounds professional) I've been "on the sauce" for 11 months give or take a panic attack and a couple missed doses. Heretofore (oh yeah, I said it) my longest stint was 6 months.

I'm not 100% certain why I quit taking it before. I think I saw it as a sign of weakness. As I mentioned in some of the last posts, I used to think medication was the domain of the weak. That for some reason if I was taking drugs it meant I wasn't truly better.

Well, to that, I say...duh! I'm not better. At least, not without the drugs. But, I am better with the drugs. I still have my moments. For example, this morning on the elliptical I got worried about what I swore was a "odd rhythm" in my heartbeat. Then I had a "breathing thing" that I couldn't explain if I wanted to. And believe me, I want to.

But, the key there was that it didn't freak me out for long. Miracles of modern medicine. If it wasn't for incorrectly amputated limbs and phen phen, I might think they were on to something.

Save me Elrond Hubbard, save me Tom Cruise!!!

I usually think of about 13 things during the day that I want to blog about. unfortunately, I usually forget them within about 8 seconds. I'm sure if I thought about this long enough I'd convince myself that this was a early-onset Alzheimer's or some rare "brain cloud". Fortunately, I've just been too busy.

I did get to go back "home" this weekend with the wife and kid. This, as you may remember, was the site of my last complete melt down. This was Christmas morning this past year. I still think it had to do with a medication change but, I always fell extra anxious when I travel. Not sure what that's about.

Its also worth noting that my wife has anxiety problems. Hers mostly focus on new people or places. It got me thinking about two things. The first being the perception of what an "anxiety issue" is. It used to be called "nerves" or "the vapors" (please, note, "the vapors" is pronounced "tha vahpahhhs" in your best southern drawl). I remember as a child how I was considered "hyperactive". Of course, now that's ADD and I'd be drugged up for it.

That got me to thinking about "better living through chemistry". I'm not a big fan of taking drugs (the legal ones) without good cause. I've done my best to limit my need for drugs to the smallest dose for the shortest time. Obviously it doesn't work all the time (I take 3 drugs a day) but its a goal. I started thinking about how I and many others frown on the idea that everyone has to be happy.

This is the idea that people get depressed and you (we) should just deal with it. I used to believe this. I used to believe (much like Our Lord and Saviour Tom Cruise) that people who took drugs like Prozac were just weak. That people who took Lipitor and BP medication just weren't willing to commit to exercise and a better diet.

My the difference a few "heart attacks" and "strokes", or at least, imagined ones, makes. I've now started to realize the fault in that logic. The fault is that its actually the reverse. What is so wrong with being happier than we were made? If we could take a pill that made us happy all day everyday, even when things went bad, what's wrong with that? If I can take a pill that keeps me from dying of a massive heart attack at 40 (here's hoping) instead of having to eat right and exercise, what's wrong with that, too?

This of course ignores the financial implications of pharmaceuticals but that's a topic for a different post. The point here is that I've come to see nothing inherently wrong with taking 2 pills a day, every day, for the rest of my life. Especially if those pills provide a long and happy life.

It just occurred to me that I can rename my medication. I take one pill to have a long life, and another to make it happy. Seems like the two should be inseparable.

Stop trying to help!!!

I rode (road? roaded? roden?) in my first two actual competitive bike races this weekend. The first day I didn't finish due to an unfortunate incident that occured in front of me (read pile-up). Today, I finished. I really felt great all day including after the finish (except for somehow wrecking into the hay bails AFTER the race was over).

Anywho, everything was great until I get back to where my wife and son were waiting. And my wife says "I think you're starting to get a nose bleed". OK. This is bad. Not uncommon necessarily. I've had nose bleeds since I was a child. My doctor said something about the blood vessels in my nose yada yada. I actually believe that one.

However, in my mind I think "excersize = high blood pressure = nose bleed". This is bad enough but, normally, I can shake this thought. Then here it comes. The wife says, "Did you take your blood pressure medicine?".

Ouch.

No, I didn't. This is not uncommon. I will usually wait until after my morning excercize before I take my pills. But this time, it struck a chord. All the standard sorts of what-if questions start running through my mind. I think I've mentioned them enough to not have to recount them here.

It was innocous enough statement from the wife. I'm sure she assumed her explanation would help me feel better. This is sort of like when you have a cough and the doctor says it could be pneumonia or cancer (gee what's that like).

I think I've managed to get by it at this point with minimal freakage, pulse checking, etc. Of course, the blood pressure machine at the grocery store was calling my name but that's not abnormal.

Well, another day, another crisis averted. Come back next time, same nut time, same nut channel.

Ouch

I rode 100 miles today. 100.7, to be exact. it was sort of a personal goal. It took something like 5.5 hours to do it. There's something I've always noticed about riding. Its very much the same feeling I get when I'm meditating. I couldn't for the life of me tell you what I thought about, alone, for 5.5 hours. Believe it or not I only thought about fire ants and heart attacks maybe once in 5 hours.

This brings to mind the saying "Idle hands are the devil's workshop." Maybe idle minds are anxiety's workshop. It seems common sense that if you're busy doing something else, you don't have time to worry. Sounds simple enough. The problem is, you're not always doing "somthing". As a matter of fact, many times, I'm doing absolutely nothing. Therein lies a problem.

Its getting cold again. This is my season for "non-reason", of you will (yeah, I know, not one of my better turns of phrase). October is usually when I start the downward slide that, usually, ends sometime in the spring. I've theorized that it was lack of sun or lack of exercise or who knows what. In reality I guess I'm just bored.

This year I'll try to stay a little more busy. It will be hard. Sometimes the mind just needs to relax. Maybe meditation can fill the need there. I'll keep you posted.

I return to the scene of the crime (or, I came, I saw, I itched)

Whn we last left our super psyco, he was litteraly afraid of itching. This, due in part to a vicious attack by a colony of rabid fire ants with frickin laser beams on their heads.

OK, maybe they didn't have laser beams. They were rabid though, I just know it. You might recall I had a near death experience. By near death, I mean I got hives and went to the hospital. That was the last time I went to this particular place and raced (on a bicycle).

I've told myself for the last month or two that I was just "changing my training schedule". I think on some level I was "scared shitless" and was avoiding this place. I decided I wanted to race there a coupel more times before the season was over so I went last night. Here's how it went.

- Find a parking spot with no grass (cause that's where the ants are)
- Stop the car and immediately open the door and look for ants
- Get out of the car
- Look for ants
- Stoop down even closer to look for ants
- Change clothes while periodically looking for ants
- Feel something crawl on my leg
- Dance like Yosemite Sam was shooting at my feet to shake the "ants"
- Get my bike
- Look for ants
- Get on the bike
- Start to itch and wonder if I was bitten by ants
- Ride around the track at some god-awful speed with 75 people who apparently don't know what "safety" means
- Ride up to my car and within four seconds I do the following:
- Look for ants
- throw my bike in the trunk
- run to the passenger side and jump in
- check for ants
- drive home hoping that that crawling feeling on my leg isn't an ant
- take a shower and remind myself that I'm washing the ants off
- Go to bed and thank God I escaped the ants
- Freak out cause I think I feel an ant


So, as you can see, I've adjusted fairly well... As the ants only occupied 50% of my total brain power I had at least 25% to spare for riding (the other 25% went to standard cancer, aneurism, and heart attack thoughts).

Did I mention there were ants?

I hear panic attacks

This has to be the craziest thing that's happened in quite some time. Last night as I'm brushing my teeth I started hearing this humming noise. Sort of like a high pitched mechanical noise. Instead of thinking something like "gee, that's a high pitched mechanical noise" I immediately went to "gee, what sort of medical condition causes the hearing of high pitched mechanical noises".

The medical dictionary that is my brain could only come up with two things. Aneurysm and high blood pressure. As a matter of fact, I thing if you drew a decision tree of my medical knowledge it would look something like this:

Does your head hurt?
     |
     |
Do you have ringing
in your ears?
     |
Back pain
     
Frequent Urination
     |
     |
Swollen Uvula
     | 
Dark Eyelashes
     |
     |
You are having 
an aneurysm.  Please
make sure your affairs are
  in order.

Simple, concise, accurate. I really don't understand what the other 7 years, 364 days of medical school or for. Probably something about negotiating insurance contacts and when to use a sand wedge instead of a pitching wedge.

Anyway, turns out when I went in to a different room I couldn't hear it any more... Go figure. An aneurysm that only happens while I'm brushing my teeth.

The thrill of Victor and the agony of de feet

Let me start by saying I have never been as proud of a post title as I am of this one. As you will see its pure genius. An interesting aside about my, we'll call it, "writing" style. I tend to write the title of the post and then everything comes from there.

This is anti-7th-grade-english where we were taught to outline the story and then outline the paragraph and then, once you woke up, fill in the blanks with actual sentences. I'm sure to many of you, this comes as no surprise. Anyway, back to the story.

I went on a bike ride yesterday. OK, "bike ride" is an understatement. This was something like a cross between "National Lampoon's European Vacation" and "Deliverence". We set out on a 80+ mile trek. There were five of us. Myself, who I consider to be an above averge but not spectacular rider, another who is just as strong (but 30lbs ligher, the bastard), a third who is almost there but could stand to train a little more, and two guys who like to ride but for one reason or another have issues keeping up. One of which is Victor.

Victor is a great guy. He's fun to work with, great to be around, and I can only describe him as Tony Robbins on crystal meth. He is a 100%, full-time, grade-A optimist. The kind of guy that can find the silver lining in nuclear war. Again, I digress.

I titled the ride "The first anual 'Oh my god, the horror, the agony' bike ride" in order to scare the less capable riders away. This did not work. This sounds like a snobbish statement. And, truth be told, it is. When going on a 6-hour bike ride to the middle of nowhere, you want to be careful who you choose. Its like the "who would you have on a deserted island?" question. No one ever picks Gilligan. You want The Professor.

After about 2 hours of riding Vic is tired. We haven't even gotten to the hard part yet. After 3 hours he's hurting. Then we start climbing. Let me say that I have a new disrespect for our civil engineers. We've sent men to the moon but we can't figure out how to get up and over a mountain without a series of switchbacks that look more like more like ladders than ramps. After 45 minutes of climbing straight up we reach the top. We meaning myself and the other strong rider. After about 10 minutes, the 3rd guy shows up. Another 10 minutes a fourth. No sign of Vic.

Here's where I have my first mini-panic. We're almost out of water and we have 3 more hours to go. The top of this mountain has what looks like a retirement villiage on it. I've somehow got it in my head that there might be "something" in the water. I do my best not to drink it for fear of some parasite or bacteria.

We head down the mountain and there is Vic on his cell phone. He's calling someone to come pick him up. We are at least 43 miles from East Egypt and he's giving up. Bad news. We convince hime to go to the next stop and then its all down hill.

Another hour of riding and we get to the next stop and there's no Vic. We wait. No Vic. We see three riders pass us and ask them if they passed another rider. No. We ride back and we hear someone yell at us from the side of the road. Vic is sitting on the porch of a U-Haul rental/taxidermy/country store with a guy who has, at most, 18 teeth. He can't go on. He won't go on. He's calling his wife to come get him. We tell him we'll go slow and that in another 11 miles its all down hill. he won't budge. Vic is broken.

Reluctantly we leave him with Bubba and as we ride away I swear I can hear banjo music and squealing pig noises... Here's where the wierd part kicks in. For the next hour I'm anxious. I'm worried about bee stings, fire ants, flat tires, how far we are from civilization, how long its taking to get home, my blood pressure, you name it, I'm freaking out about it. Vic started an anxiety storm.

For two hours we ride . All the while worried aboout Vic. He won't answer his phone (or can't) and hasn't called and left us a message to say he was picked up. Others are angry, I'm anxious. Not about Vic, but about me.

Its now Sunday night and I still haven't heard from Vic (I don't have his phone number so I sent him an email). I assume I'd get a call if he was missing. I'm still anxious.

We rode a total of 85 miles. Arriving back at our cars almost 7.5 hours after we left. This is a new personal best for me. My legs hurt, my feet hurt, I think my pancrease even hurts.

I'm not sure why being worried about Vic caused so much anxiety elsewhere. It does seem like there are triggers but its usually things like work or family that make me go off on a panic bender.

I'm sure I'll hear from Vic tomorrow and we'll all laugh. Or punch him. I haven't decided.

I haven't taken a bath in over a year

OK, before you become repulsed and question whether you should disinfect your keyboard (and your eyeballs) let me say that I take (at least) one shower a day. I'm speaking specifically here about baths. As Kramer put it so succinctly, "stewing in a tepid pool of one's own filth".

I used to enjoy baths to some extent. Especially after a long workout or bike ride. I'd sit in the tub and read a book or a magazine and just waste time. Then I started worrying about my blood pressure. The what-if engine started revving and I worried about all kinds of things. Mostly about passing out and drowning. This has in some way prevented me each time from taking a bath. Yeah, crazy, I know.

I do enjoy my hot showers on a daily basis but even those, sometimes, scare the livin bejesus out of me. Especially if I'm having an 'episode' of low blood pressure. This, of course, is probably totally ficticious and is simply me being tired and/or freaking out. Which means my BP is probably actually up...

Anywho. Yesterday I had a particularly long and arduous (more on this later) bike ride yesterday and I caught myself worrying about taking a hot shower because I felt weak.

Yes, you read correctly. I'm now afraid of water droplets that fall from a brass fixture. If I could sell tickets to my mind, I'd be a millionaire.

Get up git git git down 9/11 scared the crap out of me

Hypochondria is a disease of selfishness. Its all about me. How do I feel today? I'm sick. I need to see a doctor. Are my lymph nodes swolen? Is that mole on my back cancer? I've found it interesting that I manage to turn any event even remotely medically related into a personal strife.

I submit to you as exhibit A, how I handled 9/11 and the anthrax scare of 2001. You might ask "what could this possibly have to do with you, who lives at least 1000 miles away from said carnage?" To you I'd say "shush, I'm talking about me"

The day the planes hit the World Trade Center I was on my way to get blood work done (imagine that). This should have been the test that told me I needed cholesterol drugs. Instead, I couldn't find the lab so I went to work (I wasnt' able to avoid those pesky drugs, though). By the time I got there, the first plane had hit and the second was on its way. I panicked. I work on the 6th floor in the tallest building downtown (24 stories). In my mind, this meant I was next. I concoted some story about needing to go home and wait for relatives to call. I went home and watched CNN and Fox News for the next 6 months.

In the coming days I got increasingly worried that we'd be attacked. The slightest vibration would practically send me flying under my desk (somehow this seemed safer even though, technically, it'd be closer to the explosion). I'd find ways to come in late so that I wouldn't be there at "the best time" for the terrorists to attack. All U-haul, Ryder, Fed-Ex, UPS, ice cream, mail, and pickup trucks became suspicious. At times even girl scouts on bicycles looked ominous.

Then the Anthrax hit. Not anywhere near here, of course. But it might as well have infected my whole town. I went online and contemplated purchasing Cipro (or, it turns out, pills that say "Sip pro". I purchased these carbon masks that were basically surgical masks "guaranteed" to give you 5 minutes in a building that was under biological or chemical attack. I thought I had anthrax for 3 solid months. I even contemplated moving to Canada.

This is all embarassing looking back on it now. I never realised just how selfish I can be some times. It wasn't bad enough that 3000 people died and a dozen got anthrax. I had to make it about me.

I have no point to this. Only observations. Its like I'm working a 12-step program and this is my inventory. My name is Dave, and I'm a hypochondriac.

Opening a can of whoopass on the "what if" engine

I haven't mentioned this sort of thing in a while. When I was in therapy we went over a "technique" I'm supposed to (and do) use when I get anxious. The technique is called mindfulness. Mindfulness is defined as:

[...]the paying of bare or direct attention to each moment of our lives[...]

The basics of this I outlined in a post many moons ago (almost a year...wow!) called Woooosaaaaaa. The goal is to call things what they are. If you're saying "what if" then you simply tell yourself "self, this is anxiety". It seems simple at first. But, the trick is knowing what's anxiety. We're so good at it that we can be anxious and not even know it. Mindfulness requires that you pay almost constant attention to the thoughts you're thinking while you think them. Realizing you were anxious an hour later is really of no use. In reality that will probably make you more anxious about being anxious which means, like me, you need drugs and a good stiff shot of whiskey to calm down.

I still practice this on a regular basis. Even during the periods I feel well (like now) I still catch myself "what if-ing" like in the last post. At that moment I stop the thought and remind myself that its anxiety, that just because I'm not near a hospital it doesn't mean I'll have a heart attack. I've yet to have one in the 31 years I've been near them, why do I expect to have one now.

This takes practice. We're our own worst enemy. At first I found it exceedingly difficult to believe myself. After a while though, I proved myself right. I didn't have a heart attack. Its the same positive reinforcement you use to train dogs and babies.

Anyway, try it sometime. Use it along with meditation and I promise you'll see a difference. Here's a rather lengthy article on mindfulness:

Mindfulness

I am not made for the mountains

Allow me to make a list of all the things than ran through my head this weekend during my trip to the mountains. Lets remember, this is a house with running water, electricity, an electric gate (with remote control) satelite TV and cell service.

1. I wonder if there are fire ants (I actually started thinking this about a month ago)

2. What if I need an ambulance? it might take an hour to get here.
3. How would I call said ambulance if my cell phone doesn't work?
4. I wonder if I'm allergic to anything else up here?
5. What if it takes more than 2 epi-pens to stop whatever reaction I have should I be bitten by something from question 4?
6. Do any of the people I'm with know CPR?
7. How will I know if my blood pressure is high?
8. I'm dizzy maybe its low blood pressure (this was after a night of drinking then rising at 5AM to pee. I imagine this was actually caused by still being drunk)
9. Is that a fire ant?
10. Repeat thought 9.
11. Repeat thought 10.
12. Repeat thought 2 and 3 because of thoughts 9-11.

And there you have it. A "relaxing" weekend in the boonies hypochondria style.

Hypochondriacs Unite!!!

Actually, the title of this post should be "Hypochondriacs Unite (But wash your hands first because I don't want to get sick). But, I think that might be a little long. Anywho.

I got a comment that really put this blog in perspective. The gist of the comment being that the commenter is starting to blog their (notice the smooth usage of impersonal and gender non-specific pronouns) hypochondria as a way to see just how irational she/he/they are being.

Maybe this is why I do it. I don't know. Of course I know I'm irrational. Even though the idea that I know I'm irrational is actually a rational thought (wow). I think most people who are so 'afflicted' know they're irrational. I don't know that I've ever met a hypochondriac that truly thought they were sick 24/7. Its just those short (a relative term) periods of time where the fear and anxiety is overwhelming. Those are the times when you need a release.

Its important to get them out. I've said before that I don't think you should burden the general population with your (our) delusions. At least not the specifics (my toe hurts, I have a basil cell carcinoma, you know, the regular stuff). First off it makes that person very uncomfortable and not want to be around you. Secondly, they can't possibly understand and will either worry needlessly because you've conviced them you're sick, or just laugh and call you a moron.

Only one psycho can truly understand another. Even though the blog is cathartic for me, I really hope others can see that we all think the same way, we just have different diseases...

FYI

I've started moderating the comments due to all the spam I was getting. So if you don't see your comment pop up immediately, that's why. I promise I will post it as soon as I see it. Thanks for commenting. It makes my day.

The final countdown.

T minus 100 days until my next doctor's appointment.

Lions and Tigers and Bugs, Oh My!

I've never really liked bugs. Being a male this has caused me some issues in my life. I'm not the kind to run screaming like a girl when I see something with more legs than a dog, but I also wouldn't be caught dead with a pet tarantula or, for that matter, any pet bug. Not necessarily cause they're creepy but, come on, they're bugs. I can't imagine you can teach them to sit, stay or fetch the paper (not that I've trained my dogs to either).

Now, however, I've got reason not to like them. They tried to kill me. Now I realize I shouldn't be indicting all bugs. I'm sure grasshoppers and daddy long legs have nothing against me. But I also didn't see them coming to my recue when I was viciously attacked by one of their bretheren.

I guess I really can't blame the bugs. It was going to be something. If it wasn't being bitten by a bug that sent me into a tizzie (if that's even how you spell it) then it would have been some nameless disease that only shows up on the 4th page of a google search. But in true freak out style I'm now constantly monitoring myself for any sign of itching or hives. I'm always trying to figure out where my epi pen is or, if its not around, who I can signal with my last gasp of air to call 911.

The only solice is that this is an identifiable and concrete 'condition'. Its not like I drempt something up one night and decided I was alergic. Of course, this goes along with hypochondria. Current theory is that we really do feel the aches and pains of our 'illness'. Its just that these are the aches and pains of being alive, not being sick. So in my case, the allergy is real, the way in which I've blown it out of proportion is what makes me a hypochondriac.

Hypochondria by proxy (or not)

The other day my son (who is 2) fell on our hardwood floors and hit the back of his head. He's fine. My wife on the other hand, is not. She's afraid that he has some sort of brain damage or that he's got internal bleeding.

I keep trying to explain to her (given my vast medical knowledge) how he's fine and that kinds don't get hurt like we do and that he would have shown some signs by now, etc. It didn't help that she saw a Reader's Digest article about some kid that hit his head on the corner of a table and ended up needing brain surgery.

Her concern about him I can understand. My lack of it I don't. Its not that I'm not concerned but that I'm not freaked out. It seems fairly selfish that I'm only abnormaly worried about MY health and not that of my first (and middle and last) born son. You'd think that I would freak out even more for him.

My wife (who likes to say she's a hypochondriac but has no idea what its really like) is worried about him constantly. Its always worry about cancer, or some bruise or that he's acting funny or that he's sweating or too hot. It sounds exactly like me and how I worry about myself.

Maybe that's normal. Its easier to be objective when its not you in "danger" of being sick or dying. I just wish that somehow I could get that detachment for myself.

The British need spell check

I'm trying to understand why I have good days and bad. As I've stated countless times, I go months without even the slightest (OK, maybe the slightest (OK, its more than slight but less than nuclear explosion)) episode of "symptoms" or worry. Then, all of a sudden, I'll have a complete break down. I've theorized in the past that it was a build-up over time. That I wasn't truly dealing with the problems simply masking them or ignoring them.

This is where the meditation came in. I don't do it as much as I used to but I try to do at least 20 minutes a week. Its way down from the 70 or so a week I was doing but it still is helpful.

I've also stopped taking my blood pressure. I like to tell myself that its because my last visit was good and I don't need to check it so much. In reality, I'm still afraid to. I think I'm afraid that I'll invalidate th results at the doctor's office.

That is the sign of crazy right there. I used to be afraid to go to the doctor's office cause I know my BP would be bad. Now I'm afraid to take it at home because it WASN'T bad at the doctor's office.

All of this is generally lowing my "generalized anxiety" or as the British say "Generalised Anxiety". It seems that its common. The GAD article at this site says this:

The severity of symptoms tends to 'wax and wane' with some good spells, and some not so good spells. Symptoms may 'flare up' and become worse for a while during periods of major life stresses. For example, if you lose your job, or split up with your partner.

This sounds more like VD than anxiety (with the exception of the burning pee). They also say this:

People with GAD are more likely than average to smoke heavily, drink too much alcohol, and take street drugs. Each of these things may ease anxiety symptoms in the short-term. However, addiction to nicotine, alcohol or drugs makes things worse in the long-term, and can greatly affect your general health and wellbeing.

Wonderful. So anxiety not only leads to "flare-ups" but at some point I will be a crack whore with lung cancer.

In reality, I think I'm getting better. I'm sure the Zoloft has something to do with it but, in general, I feel good. The bad times aren't so bad and the good times are really really good. I think that's all I can hope for.

I just blew my own mind

What if I develop of phobia about being a hypochondriac? That would be like having an anxiety over having a health anxiety about being unhealthy. And since people who have phobias are in someways considered unhealthy then I'd be having a fear of a fear of being unhealthy.

So not only am I anxious but I'm anxious about being anxious about being sick.

Keep your eyes peeled, I may be the subject of a medical text any day now.

Itchy and Scratchy

I'm going crazy. Now every time I itch for any reason I begin to wonder. I know I'm a hypochondriac and I know its probably all in my head but this is rediculous. I think I now have to add "phobias" to my list of illnesses (perceived or otherwise).

I wonder if there's a latin term for this. Itchiphobia? No, too easy. Pruriphobia? That could be it. At least, that's what the latin dictionary on google says is latin for itching.

Yesterday on the bike my arm started to itch and (probably from scratching it) started to get a little splotchy. This to was full blown hives. Again I started thinking about how to contact the EMS and if I left a will in a place where my wife would find it, etc. Of course while I'm thinking about all this the itch goes away. Or moves.

At least this is manageable though. Chances are I won't die of itching so that tends to not make my nuts-o-meter go off the scale. But then again, I haven't been bitten by anything more than a mosquito. For all I know I'll be mainlining Benedryl and sticking epi-pens in both my legs on the mere sight of a fire ant.

There's an ant hill in my yard. My wife brought it to my attention yesterday. I spent 5 minutes watching it waiting to see what kind of ant crawled out. Very reminicent of taking my pulse to see if I'm having palpitations or my blood pressure to see if its high...

See, I told you I'd be back before too long.

Ninja fire ants

Now I'm afraid of sweat. More specifically of itching. This morning on my ride I started getting that sort of itchy feeling you get when its humid and your sweating and you're uncomfortable. However in my mind, I'm thinking I've been bitten and now I'm going to have to use my epi-pen. I start looking for people I can flag down so they can call 911 for me, etc.

Its as if I think there are ninja fire ants just waiting to do some Jackie Chan flying leap off of an overpass onto me while I'm riding and bite me. I guess it could happen.

Fire Ants on a Mutha#%$&# Bike!!!

I have to tell this story. Its one of my new favorites. Well, favorite as in "I'm telling you this because even I don't believe it happened". Let me set this up by saying I've only ever been to the emergency room once in my life. Suffice it to say, I didn't enjoy it. I ended up having a doctor tell me I might have cancer. Well, I ended up forcing a doctor to say that if they rule out everything from pneumonia to SARS and Anthrax, that I might have cancer. Its a subtle difference...

Anyway. Once a week I go to a "training race" for bicyclists at a local airport. We essentially ride around a 8-mile loop exceedingly fast and then try to make ourselves puke by sprinting to the finish. This is fun. If nothing else for 2.5 hours I have a different reason to think I might die. A fiery bicycle crash.

I get there and park in the same spot I've been parking all summer. I start to get changed and I feel something bite me right abouve my ankle. I look down and its a fire ant. For those of you that don't have fire ants, just wait, you will. They're like thos African Bees that have been migrating from Mexico for 20 years. They're taking over everything they come in contact with. I expect there to be a movie any day now.

So I get bit. By one ant. This is important because fire ants generally bite in the dozens at once. I don't think anything of it and just keep getting dressed. Within about 5 minutes my ankle starts itching like crazy. I think nothing of it and get on the bike.

Within 10 minutes everything from the waist down is itching like I was battered and fried in itch powder. I think nothing of it and chalk it up to the heat (it was 100 degrees). Within about 15 minutes I'm itching all the way up to the base of my neck. Especially on the inside of my elbows which makes me look like a junkie needing a fix. Somehow, I think nothing of it.

I get 2 miles into the ride and look at my arms and they are covered in hives. I immediately think A LOT of it. I have never had hives from anything. Ever. I decide to turn around and head back to the car as I didn't want to get stuck 5 miles out covered in hives.

By the time I get back to my car I am covered in hives and scratching like there's a million dollars hidden under my skin. I decide at this point that I shouldn't risk driving home and having going into anaphylactic shock on the highway.

This is where being a hypochondriac comes in handy. Most people don't even know what shock is let alone that you can go into it. I, being a highly trained medical practitioner, recognize it immediately.

I go to the fire station and they tell me they don't have anything for fire ants. No Benedryl, no epi-pens, nothing. So they call an ambulance. They start to work me up taking my information, vitals, etc. At this point my blood pressure is 140/90. Slightly high but given the situation, I think nothing of it.

By the time the ambulance gets there I am one large hive. Remember this phrase, it will appear later.

They take my blood pressure, twice, and its 100/95, twice. This is the lowest its been since I had a blood pressure. We all decide I should go to the hospital to get checked out. Yes, you read that correctly. I was part of the decision. Actually I was asked, by skilled paramedics, if I wanted to go. Let me say that another way. They asked a hypochondriac if he wanted to go to the hospital and be seen by a doctor...

So we're in the ambulance (what did you think my answer would be, no?) and they give me an IV and put 25mg of benedryl in it. I immediately know why parents give it to children. All I wanted to do was nap. Of course, in my mind going to sleep meant I might not wake up. I don't know why, it just did.

So I get to the hospotal and they put me in "Critical Care #17". This is code for "the hall". After a few hours I saw a doctor. Dr. Ben. That is what he called himself. Nice guy. Very matter of fact. He tells me I'm fine and that they want to minitor me for a few hours. Then they pump me full of drugs. I mean full.

50mg of benedryl
150mg of Zantac (yes, that Zantac)
50mg of Prednisone
.3mg of Epinephrine

The last one was the kicker. I felt like I had been running a marathon. It got rid of the hives but man, that stuff sucked. At some point the doctor asked if he could send his medical student over to see me because I had a "good case of the hives". The then said "I don't mean good for you, I just mean a good case study". I then overhear him telling his student that I was "one big hive". I don't think this is a medical term. That would be something like "Megabumpatitis".

So now, short story long, I have to carry an epi-pen when I go outside. I'm only "slightly" afraid of anything that flies, crawls, scurries, swarms, or even looks like it might be able to bite or sting me. That includes small animals and children.

Things to note though. I did not freak out. The whole time I was calm. I have to say that was in large part due to the calm nature of the people that took care of me. I'm sure if I was bleeding from more than one orrifice they would have been more excitable. Of course, I probably would have been, too.

Details of my death have been greatly exaggerated

So there I was, minding my own business at the doctor's office when all of a sudden ninjas jump out of nowhere and armed to the teeth with sphygmomanometer (the blood pressure thingy) and large bottles of Lipitor! Next thing you know I've made nun-chucks out of a stethoscope and two tongue depressors. Long story short, I spent 2 months in Himalayan prison with Brad Pitt and Batman plotting my escape...

OK, I might have embellished a little. Well, pretty much everything after "so there I was". I have been away for a while. Partly due to my being in "remission" of my hypochondria and partly due to a new job. Allow me to sum up the last few months:

1. Doctor visit good
2. Lotsa work, also good.
3. Lab test not as good, get increase in medication.
4. Get bit by fire ants spend night in ER, not good.
5. Spend week on handfuls of strange drugs, not good.
6. Freak out, not good.
7. Recover from freak out, good.

With the exception of the fire ants, the good seems to equal the bad. That is also good. So maybe that means that the good outweighs the bad... That seems like poor math there somehow...but I digress.

I'm sure there are random other things in there but overall, everything is going well. I will do my best to pick this back up. Unfortunately (or not, depending on how funny you think I am) I just haven't had a lot to blog about.

Winter is coming. That tends to be a bad period for me. Bear with me while my crazy engine gets revved back up.

1 day and counting

There are certain things I don't allow myself to think about.  This is in order to maintain a certain shall we say "sanity" in my life.  They are, in no certain order:

1.  Death
2.  Doctors
3.  Sickness
4.  Defecit Spending
5.  My Parents Having Sex

OK, there is a definite order to those.  I do my best to put these things out of my mind on a regular basis.  Sometimes I get a little glimmer of one and realize that at some point I'll have to face one or all (okay, 4) of them.

I'm stuck today on doctors.  Especially the desire to get a new one.  I've been with the same guy since I moved here 6 years ago so I'd hardly call it doctor shopping.  I'm just looking for some affirmation.  I know I've been harping on this.  Sorry.  I can't help it.

We'll see how things go tomorrow.  Maybe it will be awesome.  Maybe everything will be perfect.

Maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt.  I'll bet he has a pill for that.

Dead man walking

Two days to go 'til Dr. "You're sick and you aren't getting better"... I thought about it today, he's never once said I was improving, progressing, even heading in the right direction.

Maybe I should just get a new doctor. Not one that will tell me I'm not sick, but at least one that will tell me I'm doing everything I can. Even that will be an improvement. I get the feeling my current doctor won't stop until I'm in a hospital on IV anti-hypertensives and statins.

Freakin myself out

I have a Dr. appointment on Wed.  Normal BP checkup.  Normal by other's standards, slightly worse than a hot poker in the eye to me.

I get really nervous.  I've covered this before.  doctors freak me out.  Mine doesn't even wear the lab coat, its just the whole environment.  The clinical settings, the attitudes of the nurses, the pseudo-life or death situations that the doctors seem to believe you're always in.

So to combat this I've started trying to visualize my next appointment.  This didn't work really well last time but I figured, what the hell.  So while I meditate I try to visualize the whole process.  From the walking in the door to the peeing in the cup to the getting the BP taken.

This isn't working out so well...  So far I can only get to "flipping through the 3-year old magazine" before I really start to freak out.  I figured I'd at least get into the waiting room (in my little mind) before I started getting worked up.

On the bright side, I was able to calm down and get melow again.  That was good.  Otherwise, I think its gonna suck.

On my next birthday (in a scant 2 weeks) I'll be 32.  3-2.  That is spelled O-L-D.  At least, in my mind which still thinks I'm about 20.

I mean, I still feel good.  Actually, I'm in better shape than I was when I was 20.  Maybe even better than when I was 16.  But then, I was 16.  I might as well have been made of Kevlar and cast iron.  At least, that's how I remember myself.

Of course at that time, I wasn't a hypochendriac.  But I was an anxious person.  At least as it pertained to death and other such things.  I remember when the Soviet Union broke up thinking there would be a nuclear war at any moment.  I remember freaking out when I saw an airplane fly over during the first Iraq war cause I thought it would have chemical weapons on it.  I remember breaking down thinking I'd be drafted.

These are not the thoughts of a normal teenager.  I should have know something was up.  Now, 16 years later, I'm really none the wiser.  Still worried just about different things.  Maybe more important things.  I don't worry about my mortality so much as what the loss of me might do to my family.

I don't agree with some people's assertion that hypochondria is a selfish or "self-focused" problem.  That's a part of it.  But I think more of the concern is how will our friends and family deal with our early demise.  How will they go on without me?

I guess this is, in itself, selfish.

Minor incident

I had a minor incident yesterday.  Not too bad but a small set back.  I forgot to take my meds until about 2PM.  This didn't bother me too much.  I just took them and that was that...sorta.

I did think about it a bit.  Well, a lot, but not so much that I freaked out like last time and ran into the bathroom to take my BP.  I did still take my BP and it was a little high (although I dispute the results on the grounds that I don't like them...)

So, of course, I took it again.  This time it was perfect.  So, its an improvement.  Not a big one.  There was no freak out and I was able to control myself pretty well.

That being said, today I had a spaz.  I had this pain in my elbow.  Sort of on the outside of it.  When I looked down at it I noticed my pulse right above my elbow.  And what do all good hypochondriacs think?

Aneurysm.

Damn skippy.  I mean, if you can see your pulse, you're probably already dying.  You've heard this time and time again.  Words like "pulsatile mass" and "big beating blobby thing" (ok, maybe I made that one up) are the stock and trade of aneurysms.

Of course, when I realized I could see the same "pulsatile mass) on my other arm and it was really nowhere near the "pain" in my elbow, I calmed down.

Well, sorta.

feh

Not much to report today.  I called and confirmed my Dr. appointment yesterday.  We'll see how it goes.  I'm pretty certain he'll still say my blood pressure is high (cause I'll be freaking out) but at this point I'm hoping I'll be OK with it.  The last few times I've checked it its been realy good.

I've been trying to come up with a game plan (again) for the visit.  Some sort of relaxation while I'm there.  Maybe even trying to meditate while I'm waiting for him.  The problem is that eventually he's going to walk in the room and that will totally freak me out.

I'm getting a little nervous just writting this.  Either way though, like the therapist says, it is what it is.  I can't base my health, positive or negative, on a number.

It sounds good while I'm typing it.  Ask me if I believe it on June 7th.

The cure for hypochondria

I finished reading the book "The Hypochondriac's Guide to Life. And Death." today.  I have to admit it was pretty good.  Yes its filled with all kinds of crazy diseases and ways to "check" yourself.  So, if you're in a bad place right now, I don't recommend it.  However, if you can stomach reading about diseases then I'd really recommend it.

The author says he's found the cure for hypochondria and gives his version of it at the end.  I don't want to spoil it but its something I've alluded to here in the past.  There are two cures for hypochondria I think.  His (which I won't name) and death.

That's not as bleak as it seems.  Of the diseases of the psyche that you can have, ours is one of the least.  Constant worry isn't fun but its bearable.  It doesn't make you want to wear your underwear on your feet or climg the top of a bell tower and shoot at "demons".  This is a good thing.

First, I wear boxers and how would you keep those on your feet?  Second, I don't own a gun and I'm pretty sure that if you shot a demon he wouldn't notice it.  I mean, he's a demon...

Well, I digress.  Anyway.  Its a good book.  It has some actual laugh out loud moments.  One of my favorite is while he's getting an abdominal ultrasound and has a freak-out moment.  I laughed.  Try explaining that to your wife when she hears laughter coming from the bathroom.

Interesting quote

I don't know if he made it up or if its a quote.  But its very interesting and I thought I'd pass it on.  An instructor of mine said this in class the other night.

"Hell begins when God grants you the clarity to see the things you could have done, the things you should have done, or the time you've wasted."

It really struck a chord with me.  I don't know of the clarity is a gift or curse from God as we age.  I've often wondered if the reason we sleep less the older we get is a subconcious recognition of our running out of time.

There are many things I should have done, and maybe a few things I could have done.  But there is countless time that I've wasted.  Much of it on worry.  It seems counterintuitive really.  To waste so much of my life worrying about losing said life (or even more ironically, shortening it).