CleverLittleViper
13-06-20, 00:24
I realise I'm not the best person to take advice from because I've posted very recently (just today in fact) about one of my many worries, but I've also done quite well over the past six years with controlling my anxiety and I'm not in the place that I was when I had my breakdown in 2014. Far from it.
I'm a classic hypochondriac. I don't use the term lightly, or to be offensive. It is a perfect description of what I am. Contrary to popular belief about hypochondriacs, I don't do it for attention. I don't do it out of some strange desire to make people feel sorry for me or anything like that. It's just something I have been cursed with. The more I've learned about myself and this mental illness the more I've realised how intrinsically linked it is to the desire to have full control. I want to control absolutely everything. Illness is the opposite of control. It represents the one area in life that you really cannot dictate, no matter how much you want to. You can eat well, exercise every day and still be struck down by some catastrophic illness and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
That terrifies me. That thought that my life is not wholly my own. That one day, a life that I thought I had completely planned out could be blown to bits by a piece of bad news. It can be hard to accept that this is the life we all lead. These are the risks. It's always amazed me that there are people who can go about their daily lives and not think of what could potentially go wrong. Not to be constantly scouring their body for the tiniest of signs that something may be amiss. It seems so bizarre to me that there are people who are not hyper-aware of how their body feels and looks, and taking note of every symptom. Then I realised it is me that is not normal. I'm the one with the issue, not them.
I'm the one who looks at every little thing on my body with suspicion, and treats every symptom as a sign of impending doom. That isn't normal. That isn't reasonable or rational. It's based entirely off fear. And it's not fear of illness so much as a fear of loss of control. Loss of ownership over my life. I can't keep living my life this way. I can't keep checking myself for faults. I want to learn how to live this life I'm so desperate to have control of, and I think part of that is accepting the fact that I can't control everything. I can't dictate whether or not I get sick. That's not a choice any of us get.
I just don't want to live a life that is so wrapped up in the what ifs, wasting time wondering about this disease and that disease, diseases that will likely never become my companion, when I could be living my life normally. When I could experience a symptom and not think, "Oh, here it goes, the end is near." Instead, I want to experience a symptom and know, like most people do, that we all get symptoms. Every single day. Most are benign. Most pass and require no explanation or further investigation.
It's not a life when you're constantly standing guard, trying to catch the perceived threat in action and you're paused by it. I've got too much to look forward to. A good job, moving into my first home in a couple of weeks, a holiday next year. I imagine everyone here is in that boat of some sort. Well, I'm abandoning ship.
I'm a classic hypochondriac. I don't use the term lightly, or to be offensive. It is a perfect description of what I am. Contrary to popular belief about hypochondriacs, I don't do it for attention. I don't do it out of some strange desire to make people feel sorry for me or anything like that. It's just something I have been cursed with. The more I've learned about myself and this mental illness the more I've realised how intrinsically linked it is to the desire to have full control. I want to control absolutely everything. Illness is the opposite of control. It represents the one area in life that you really cannot dictate, no matter how much you want to. You can eat well, exercise every day and still be struck down by some catastrophic illness and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
That terrifies me. That thought that my life is not wholly my own. That one day, a life that I thought I had completely planned out could be blown to bits by a piece of bad news. It can be hard to accept that this is the life we all lead. These are the risks. It's always amazed me that there are people who can go about their daily lives and not think of what could potentially go wrong. Not to be constantly scouring their body for the tiniest of signs that something may be amiss. It seems so bizarre to me that there are people who are not hyper-aware of how their body feels and looks, and taking note of every symptom. Then I realised it is me that is not normal. I'm the one with the issue, not them.
I'm the one who looks at every little thing on my body with suspicion, and treats every symptom as a sign of impending doom. That isn't normal. That isn't reasonable or rational. It's based entirely off fear. And it's not fear of illness so much as a fear of loss of control. Loss of ownership over my life. I can't keep living my life this way. I can't keep checking myself for faults. I want to learn how to live this life I'm so desperate to have control of, and I think part of that is accepting the fact that I can't control everything. I can't dictate whether or not I get sick. That's not a choice any of us get.
I just don't want to live a life that is so wrapped up in the what ifs, wasting time wondering about this disease and that disease, diseases that will likely never become my companion, when I could be living my life normally. When I could experience a symptom and not think, "Oh, here it goes, the end is near." Instead, I want to experience a symptom and know, like most people do, that we all get symptoms. Every single day. Most are benign. Most pass and require no explanation or further investigation.
It's not a life when you're constantly standing guard, trying to catch the perceived threat in action and you're paused by it. I've got too much to look forward to. A good job, moving into my first home in a couple of weeks, a holiday next year. I imagine everyone here is in that boat of some sort. Well, I'm abandoning ship.