Dying Again
My recent trip to the eye doctor revealed a formerly undiagnosed ocular abnormality. Which has sent my hypochondria into high gear again. I'm now pretty sure I'm in the first stages of a certain chronic disease, one that involves pieces/parts of your brain dying off and leaving you with a mighty useless central nervous system.
I'm about to tell you what I've discovered during this relapse of hyper self-awareness.
First, hypochondria, like crime, doesn't pay. Hypochondriacs tend to use their amateur diagnoses as a sort of talisman against actual disease - "if I've imagined it, then I must have the power to ward it off." Hypochondriacs falsely prepare themselves for the actual diagnosis. They think they're ready to hear the doctor say, yes, you are going to die, so they can feel self-righteous - "oh, I knew it all along." But the truth is, now that I actually have what could be considered a problem, I am, emotionally, totally unprepared for the worst. I'm frantically thinking, no, just make it go away, if this is my punishment for being a hypochondriac then I'll stop, I'll stop right now and never poke around for tumors or stare at my abnormally shaped tongue in the mirror for hours again. I promise!
So I'm paralyzed. I can't go to the doctor. In a way, I'd almost rather just go undiagnosed and die from my chronic disease than have it exposed.
Second, I've discovered it's not the chronic disease I have a problem with at all. This realization was surprising and liberating. It's the culture of racing for the cure and making lemonade and all that crap that I have a problem with. I've always found those who so insist on the positive in everything that the negative just gets squelched down into this suppressed, denied little ball of emotional atrophy to be unbearable, even antithetical to the way I operate. You know, the types who say "cancer is the best thing that ever happened to me!" Getting enveloped into and smothered by that culture would be more of a hell for me that being trapped in a body that doesn't work right.
Third, I've decided that this hypochondria is an addiction. Beer and cigarettes have never been particularly addictive for me - yes, I like the pleasant buzz, but I really can stop, and have stopped, whenever I want to. Gambling I have to watch myself with, but hypochondria (along with caffeine, but that's another post for another day) is a habit that I can't just stop.
If anything, that makes me more sympathetic to alcoholics and smokers.
I'm about to tell you what I've discovered during this relapse of hyper self-awareness.
First, hypochondria, like crime, doesn't pay. Hypochondriacs tend to use their amateur diagnoses as a sort of talisman against actual disease - "if I've imagined it, then I must have the power to ward it off." Hypochondriacs falsely prepare themselves for the actual diagnosis. They think they're ready to hear the doctor say, yes, you are going to die, so they can feel self-righteous - "oh, I knew it all along." But the truth is, now that I actually have what could be considered a problem, I am, emotionally, totally unprepared for the worst. I'm frantically thinking, no, just make it go away, if this is my punishment for being a hypochondriac then I'll stop, I'll stop right now and never poke around for tumors or stare at my abnormally shaped tongue in the mirror for hours again. I promise!
So I'm paralyzed. I can't go to the doctor. In a way, I'd almost rather just go undiagnosed and die from my chronic disease than have it exposed.
Second, I've discovered it's not the chronic disease I have a problem with at all. This realization was surprising and liberating. It's the culture of racing for the cure and making lemonade and all that crap that I have a problem with. I've always found those who so insist on the positive in everything that the negative just gets squelched down into this suppressed, denied little ball of emotional atrophy to be unbearable, even antithetical to the way I operate. You know, the types who say "cancer is the best thing that ever happened to me!" Getting enveloped into and smothered by that culture would be more of a hell for me that being trapped in a body that doesn't work right.
Third, I've decided that this hypochondria is an addiction. Beer and cigarettes have never been particularly addictive for me - yes, I like the pleasant buzz, but I really can stop, and have stopped, whenever I want to. Gambling I have to watch myself with, but hypochondria (along with caffeine, but that's another post for another day) is a habit that I can't just stop.
If anything, that makes me more sympathetic to alcoholics and smokers.
posted by Christine Borne at 7:21 AM
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