Nothing takes the wind out of my sails like receiving a letter stating that I’ve been officially declared as clinically extremely vulnerable and as a result I’m eligible to receive my vaccination sooner than my allotted age group.
On one hand, cool! Vaccines for me!
On the other hand, I feel like I’m about to keel over and die any second and the only person unaware of my impending implosion is me.
I have a relatively small list of fears: tarantulas, children, children tarantulas, and my own mortality. I am paralyzed with fear when I think that I could die any second. There’s so much I would miss out on – I don’t know what any of it is, but I guarantee that I’d rather be alive for it than otherwise. The thought of either Ed or myself shuffling off this mortal coil absolutely scares the fuck out of me, and every time my doctor calls me to send me off for more mysterious testing, I completely shut down and just can’t function. And then, true to my nature, I start worrying about all of my stuff that someone’s going to have to deal with. And all my passwords. Who will manage my passwords?!
They did a full blood panel on me several weeks ago, the results of which were apparently so alarming that every specialist in the city has been alerted to the walking medical conundrum that I represent. I had to do an exercise test that I spent most of a week scared shitless about (mostly thanks to Ed confusing “exercise test” with “athletic endurance test”), complete with having to wear a heart monitor overnight because I have such a lack of natural rhythm that even my heart can’t keep a beat. I haven’t heard anything about the results. They’re sending me to be blinded by science on Monday with an ophthalmologist, and I’m supposed to get a call from a hemogoblinologist soon so they can look at my blood with lasers. I don’t know if this is all just routine testing – my doctor literally phoned in the appointment – but every new test they send me on throws me into a spiral of fear.
I want to see this new status as a good thing because I’ll be protected from the ‘vid that much sooner, but I can’t see it as anything other than forewarning that my fast lane lifestyle and the hard partying I haven’t yet gotten around to is finally catching up with me, and I’m falling apart in fast motion.
Literally the only thing I have to do in this world is keep myself alive, and I’m failing miserably at it.
There isn’t enough pot in the world to help me deal with this. I’m fucking terrified.
3 thoughts on “i’m (not) okay”
Let me introduce you to Caitlin. She writes books. One of her books single-handedly taught me the senselessness of worrying about death. It did this in spite of the medical establishment’s effort to bury me in frightening results from frightening tests.
Death isn’t scary when the mystery is peeled back. I dare you not to laugh when you read this quote in context: “C’mon, girl, five before five. You get after that goal!”
Also, on another note, Pink Kush FTW.
Ooops, the link to the book didn’t paste, probably due to safety.
The book is entitle “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”, the author is Caitlin Doughty, and it’s an amazing read.
Thank you! I will look into this tonight! <3