Tag Archives: health

My Brain Soliloquy

5 Apr

People talk a lot about Depression. They talk about Anxiety.This excites the hell outta me, because these things SHOULD be talked about. They are major issues for a major part of our society, and are absolutely not to be taken lightly.

…And we’ve seen the unfortunate affects of trying to ignore them.

…Something I additionally deal with (because my brain is just this uber sauce of awesome) is not as frequently discussed, and as a sister-cousin of Anxiety, can live and procreate and feed and feed and feed for days, weeks, months…sometimes even years…with no formal medical go-to coping mechanism.

There is no pill you can throw at it to reset the chemistry of your mind.

…So far, the only help you can offer to ease it is therapy to try and coach the brain alternatively. Which, for me, has worked exactly as effectively as tell me to calm down during an Anxiety attack–in that it helps zero-much.

Zero-much.

Hyperchondria kinda gets the bumb-wrap of Schizophrenia in how the world relates to its victims. What I mean by that is: they fold it into comedies on film to make a character more “interesting” or “dark” or “off” or “quirky” or just “disturbed” in general.

What I can tell you about actually HAVING it, is: there is not a single, solitary thing that is funny about it.

…I can make fun of my Anxiety (eventually) in nearly every circumstance, after it is over. That is how I regain my power back from what it has taken. It is how I “win.”

…I had been diagnosed since early childhood with Hyperchondria…and what I can tell you about it, is that never once have I “won” even a slight piece of ground, from it. The way that it has manifested in me is so deep, and from so young, for reasons which even the shrink couldn’t conjur up…and it is (and apparently always has been, and WILL be) a constant.

…And when I say “constant,” I mean: I am deathly afraid of at least one thing, if not also another, at all times. I can have fleeting moments without…sometimes even a few days…but I’ve never made it a week. I’ve never seen an illness of another and not mentally had to go to war with myself about it. To the worst case scenario. Every single time.

… I never have an itch or ache or bump that I don’t lose sleep over. 

…Literally: lose sleep over.

…And it is always a blooming congregation of thoughts, which bloom horribly. Death is not the “fear” here…it’s the prolonged torture of horrendously, slowly, long-term eventually dieing.

This disease (often coupled with Anxiety for obvious reasons) makes this horrible little forever nesting environment in my brain, where it can feed and fester…and does. And because it has been so constant, I have been able across the years to build up a bit of a functioning tolerance to it. 

…The brain will fight. It will fight hard for you. Which is pretty cool. When it isn’t tearing you apart.

…But sometimes I get into pockets where it begins to overtake me wholly. Much like hitting the ceiling in Anxiety, when I need to ultimately fold and take the damn Xanax.

…Only, as I said before…there IS no “Xanax,” or other chemical brother, that exists, which can help.

Which means…when I hit this supremely arresting level of legitimate terror –say, I’ve been in for a good while now, directly after I finished my last bout with Anxiety…it’s like no-sleep, sweaty-shakes, zombie-esc central.

…And that is always fun while performing a show, rehearsing another, and holding down a full time work week.

So: I battle. I keep losing. I’m terrified damn near every minute about at least three things that currently come to mind, and am even physically manifesting my terrors bodily as the ultimate thing that takes a Hypercondriac out of commission in any joy or normal life department.

And though talking about it, has never helped me. And laughing about it, is never a possibility. I guess I’m putting it here in print for those who suffer from it too.

The terror is real. I get it. I understand you. I know it doesn’t help you even a little bit to know that. But: now you do.

I know.

And: I’m really fucking tired of knowing it.

~D

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The 21 Pound Affect

3 Sep

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Today, 75 days after first affixing the Fitbit to my chubby wrist, I finally crossed the threshold I’ve been waiting for.

…Months (plural) of busting ass to melt fat, only to find the gained muscle would thumb it’s nose at me with every weigh-in, I at last saw the digits pass below a certain marker. It isn’t “The Goal,” but it had turned into the backbreaking illusive number I just COULD NOT pound into the ground.

This morning: I did.

….With a “spare,” even.

21 pounds.

Magically, this has seemed to take a little of my, “Oh-my-God-I-am-so-fucking-tired-of-all-this-healthy-shit” thoughts, and reinvigorate a little bit of mojo.

….Because this morning I didn’t just have the same cuppa black coffee and thing of oatmeal. This morning, I had, “21-pounds-down black coffee, and thing of 21-pounds-down oatmeal”

….Sure, it all tastes like burnt-oat-cardboard! Which I have been surviving off of, for 11 shitty weeks. But suddenly, it was the kinda burnt-oat-cardboard that helped me lose 21 effing pounds! So now, it’s part of a magic award-winning combo! Staid and true!

….Like putting Streep in a drama!

…Or Pixar, slapping their name on a cartoon!

…Suddenly, all the green foods, are less boring again. And it’s actually worth it, that I haven’t had a Coke in 75 days. (And 4 hours)

…With the 21 Pound Affect, the sodium-freeness is a little bit okay, I miss the potatoes sorely, but multi-grain pasta maybe isn’t totally the worst thing.

…Which doesn’t make it all hearts and flowers…and Christmas and New Years, by any means. It still sucks.

…(and whoever the hell thought up a “serving size” of cereal as 3/4 of a cup, is a delusional, unrealistic, asshole)…

…But, at least now…FINALLY…the numbers and mirror are starting to add up a little.

…Or rather, add down.

…Either way: declaring an At-Freakin-Last goal, makes it a little bit easier. And maybe a lot-bit cooler.

…Like a Fitness Superhero.

And now, I’m off to go chug some more 21-pounds-down water.

Like an effing Rock Star!

Boooyuh!

~D

Hangry

20 Mar

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We have crossed the halfway point of my detox.

It’s for-shit.

…After cutting salt, sugar, booze, fast food, and preservatives, plus adding a vitamin regime, and tons of raw fruit and veg, I am only 5 pounds down from the day I fucking started.

Five.

…None of this has been worth five pounds.  Ten would even be stretching it, but acceptable.  Five is what you gain after a day of pizza, ice cream and beer…with maybe a burger on top.  If you take that same shit away, reason states you should lose the same amount.

…It’s only fucking fair.

…If you take that stuff away across 11 days of time…you should be dumping weight faster than (enter analogy here…I’m too hungry and tired to think of one.)

…And that’s another thing: isn’t eating well supposed to make you feel awesome?!  Aren’t you supposed to sleep better and go around like the happy chicks in Tampon commercials with all their running, biking, hiking, swimming, excess energy joy?

Cuz I don’t.

…If anything, I’m moodier and have to force myself just to take a flipping walk at saunter pace in the sunshine.

…It’s like a horrible perimenopause over here. 

…Reason is telling me to just bunk it and go back to life as I know it.  None of this is making me look, feel, or act like a better person.  Back in the happy days of whiskey and hamburger patties…I was at least fun to be around.  I’m even pissing myself off lately. 

…But I will stick with it to the full run-out date, anyway.  Because I’m not the giving up type. I will win this fucker by completing it, and then screw the lack of results as I will in theory have won anyway just by seeing it to the end.

…And then…

…I will have the most butter-filled, meat-coma-inducing, cream-sauce-covered meal you have ever seen, to celebrate.  And I will drink whatever the hell I want to.

…And I will prob’ly have the best sleep and happiest following day in the past month, because of it.

Detox can suck it.

~D

Your Friday Randomness

7 Mar

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Listen, I have these two bananas left on my desk…so do you want one? 

…I’ve been pushing them on everyone since I came in today.  Apparently bananas have a shelf life of about a day-and-a-half in my house, cuz I swear they were mostly green when I got them Wednesday, and now they’re on the ass-end of being brown-freckled to death.

Stupid fruit.

…See, this is why I do vegetables, instead.  This always happens to me. The apples get soft brown spots, the berries grow fuzz and the oranges sound like slushies when you shake them…all within about 48 hours from date of purchase.  I need to just stop trying anymore and buy my fruit as nature intended I consume it: In Oikos yogurt.

Meanwhile…

I did this really stupid thing yesterday at “lunch.” I watched the finale of “Burn Notice.”

…I was naturally devastated and useless for about three hours after, and super pissed, but in the good way…cuz it HAD to end the way that it did…with the people and the things and the stuff, and it was a moment of total bad-assness on it’s own terms…but still. It wasn’t okay. And you need to know that.

…Lucky for me I still have “Cagney & Lacey” to consume as I lick my wounds. Which…I dunno if you’ve seen it in a while or not…but it ain’t like those cheesy 80’s shows with bad writing, and dated everything else. That show, is tops. I mean laughing out loud and getting pissed and emotional EVERY EPISODE kind of good.

…Plus it continues to feed my current “Celebricrush” fulfillment on Sharon Gless.

…Know what else feeds that? (Other than my Amazon wish list?) Google and the YouTubes.

…In fact, Google and the YouTubes are tops when it comes to “Celebristalking.” So many happy hits of joy to seek and mine. Of course I choose to refer to this action as “study time” more than “stalking”…in as much as I am gaining valuable information useful to my daily life and career, and not just general gossip about which brand she smokes (none, she’s quit), or how many per day (three packs, at her highest.)

…Lessons like, “Every Fucking Way To Use A Cigarette As A Prop.” This is an important update to the unwritten book Bette Davis first wrote back in the 30’s. And with the theme of characters on my resume, this can ONLY be considered invaluable information. So too, “How To Make Your Interviewer Blush.” “Wig & Hair Ornamentation Tips.” “How To Be The Darling Of The Gays.” “Out Dirty-Laughing The Dirty Laughers.” “How To Embrace & Love The ‘Fat Farm.'” “How To Be A GILF.” “Marriage Ain’t For Everyone.” And, “How To Tell A Critic To Fuck Off.”

…I think perhaps the last one is my particular favorite. Mostly for its context:

“The woman in San Jose slammed everything I did from the minute the curtain came up! She hated every moment of it and criticized my orgasm! …I wanted to write her and say, ‘Look lady, I don’t know what yours are like or if you’ve ever had one, but I did mine standing up and got applause every night.'”

…That was Gless at age sixty-something, P.S.

Just: “Winning.” The end.

In Other News: I am now eating my second banana of the day. Can you OD on them? I dunno. I only bought them for the vitamins and you CAN OD on those…though I still don’t understand how.

…As part of my “trying to embrace and love the ‘Fat Farm,'” lesson, I decided a natural food detox with vitamin bump would be a good idea. So looked up a bunch of all natural stuffs, together with recommendations of friends, and now am choking down weeds and powders in pill form, every morning, in lieu of breakfast.

…I tried to fix that too…which is where the bananas come in.

…Only turns out that raiding my pantry for pills from the last health kick I was on, showed toxic levels of too muchness in the daily intake. Like 2000 IUs of vitamin D instead of the Pac NW recommended 1000…the difference meaning I could accidentally die of like liver failure and twelve other things…OR if not consuming enough: keel over from weak bones, contract MS, have breast issues, or fade into a ghost jellyfish from general lack of sunlight.

…For a hypochondraic, this kind of research and study is enough to send you absolutely over the edge with anxiety…but I’ve managed rather well under the circumstances. I’ve set myself a nice and balanced little chart to follow, and am trying my best to wean myself off the crap-consumption so my body can actually take advantage of it. Soda and junk food is out. There isn’t a lick of salt in my house. A few cheats here and there from the evil Starbuck drive-thru and late night nibbles after rehearsal are still a battle, but that’s been set with a kill date of tomorrow.

…Other than that, the booze are really the last of the hump. Its a big one…I don’t wanna climb that hill…it sucks. Wine and whiskey are delicious! But its time, its good. I’ve done my Wakes and taken my break and puffed out like a float in the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Time to reel it in now.

…Detox. Whatta bitch.

~D

Threats & Other Side Effects

16 Aug

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I dunno what it is about our particular business at the Brothel…but working here is the first time I have been faced with consumer fury when things go awry, equal to the kind of emotions that begin World Wars.

…A 90-something year old man went all “Gran Torino” on our Whs Pimp once, threatening to “shoot him in the head,” just because a part was missing from their delivery.

…A Wife (in prep for her Husband’s birthday) warned us ahead of time that if we screwed this up, we’d have political ramification for it.  Cuz he was “such-in-such, under la-de-dah, with the department of whats-it-called.”

…This one time? Boss was damned to hell so viciously, he put it on speaker phone, muted. We laughed our asses off as it continued to grow in tirade across the better part of five minutes. Which is a long-ass time, when it’s one run-on sentence without stopping for air.

We are not “new” to the game of totally ridiculous over-reactions, here. Just part of the job.  I dunno “why.”

…In keeping with this, I’ve been dealing for two days with this Customer who (if he had his way), would have Boss and me fired, skinned, cooked on a spit, our children kidnapped, our pets murdered, houses ransacked, and the towns we live in pillaged.

…I know this because across the span of these past 48 hours, he has told me so.

Because Boss is on vacation at some beach house with zero cell signal, it has fallen solely on me to deal with this enticing character. 

…Besides being thoroughly pissed to have to deal with someone who isn’t a man, said Customer is also further enraged that there is such a person above me, whom he cannot speak with, under any circumstance.  “Cannot” isn’t in his vocabulary.  Most especially as he owns us (don’t you know.)  WE work for HIM, Boss is HIS hired servant, I am less than a concubine, and Customer DEMANDS we understand this.

…He’s also gone on a political bent about “burocracy,”  compared us to both Hitler AND Stalin, called me a “capitalist pig,” (though I very obviously make less money than he does), and made it perfectly clear that if he does not get his way, the President will be hearing about it.  Not of our “company,” mind you.  Of the United States.

Now, English doesn’t happen to be his first language, and he clearly has some unresolved issues with regards to the workings of his previous country of origin.  Also, clearly, some unresolved issues on how we do things over here.  I am not entirely sure how we can possibly be Capitalistic-Social-Communists who are trying to “rape” him with regards to our goods and services.  I assume both frustration and a major language barrier are a greater part of these threats than not.  But what I do know is that by day two, I was a HELL of a lot less “gracious” about it, when he called for the 11th time to awkwardly attempt a verbal ripping of a new asshole.

By 9:30 today, I was just done.

DONE, with listening to him barrage me with hypothetical pictorals of my imminent demise. DONE trying to corral and calm him down. DONE with the five follow-up calls directly after speaking with him from every source our company owns which ever has touched his order in the annals of history. 

…I was DONE trying to explain process and procedures, while he refused me a word in edgewise.  DONE with his brayings about “honor” and “entitlement”…and DONE being called “you girl,” on a consistant basis, with the kind of spit-grimace in his voice indicating I registered somewhere between “horse shit” and “amoebas” in the classification of worldwide existence.

I HAVE A NAME!  I HAVE A POSITION!  I HAVE A COUNTRY WHO REFUSES TO KILL ME FOR NOT HAVING PRODUCT IN STOCK!  I AM A WOMAN, GODDAMN IT, NOT JUST “SOME GIRL!”  AND I AM SO FUCKING DONE WITH YOU NOW!

…Needless to say, our last conversation didn’t go as he planned.

In fact, it was rather a curious turn of events.

…Apparently I am the very first being from the population of all womanity to take him on, head-to-head.  I must have been.  Because his shocked silence to my final stipulation, was a 180 degree turn from his previous stance.

“Enough!  This stops now.  You WILL NOT speak to me like this anymore.  I am the manager of this office.  If you are unhappy, I will delete your order, return your money, and instruct Corporate to refuse any further services.  That is my final offer.”

…”Refuse?”  But how can this be??  He owns us!  By rights of all consumerism.  It says so in the rule books and stuff!

Refuse,” says I.

…To which a silence followed.  It was full.  He, using all the space inside of it to troubleshoot this new dilemma.

Me: “Do you want to keep your appointment tomorrow, or would you like me to cancel your order.”

He: “Please.  Yes.  Yes…please for to, please…keep appointment.  Tomorrow.  Yes.  Fine. Please.”

Me: “Alright then.  You’ll be receiving a call tomorrow morning with estimated time of arrival.”

He: “Please, yes.”

Me: “Thank you.”

He:  “Yes.  Please.  Thank you.”

The end.

Why the change?

How do you just stop an ongoing assault, lasting for two days, on a dime like that and completely turn a corner into a totally different scenario? 

I have no idea.  But I do remember this one thing m’shrink said once…when I was knee-deep in frustrations and all-consuming  irrational faux-responsibilites. 

…I tend to take the world onto my shoulders because, goddamn it, I can manage and hold the weight!  Until I can’t anymore, that is.  The whole idea is NOT to get to that point. 

People need boundaries. 

We need to set them for ourselves as well as for “others.” We need to declare them. We need to enforce them.  If for no other reason: at the very least, our own sanity. 

…People encroach like children…pressing buttons and limits just because they can…because they want to know where the final line rides.  Where is your tipping point?  And a lot of time…more often than you would think…saying, “ENOUGH IS ENOUGH,” doesn’t sully your reputation.  Instead, you very often will GAIN something. Certainly, “dignity.”  “Honor.” “Peace.”

…And sometimes…even from the most filthy hatred-spewing assholes…a kind of “respect.”

Battle won.

…Now for the rest of m’day…

Next?

~D

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