(no subject)
i would like to talk about my hypochondriatic tendencies.
there is very little in life that spooks me more than having no control. and although to a certain extent i can shape the way my overall health is (i.e. eating well, avoiding smoking, exercising, etc)...in the end i'm still just a girl at battle with the elements. a victim of yeast infections on false cancer scares.
last night i felt a pain in my gut. in my bladder to be exact. looking back on it i'm sure it was nothing. indigestion. but looking back further, all the way to the day following easter of the year before last, i remember my first urinary tract infection. and a very similar pain. i remember waking up and having to pee so badly. red wine has that effect on me (eh, as does any other liquid), and seeing that i had easily consumed a bottle and a half alone... i thought my bladder was going to explode. so i jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and sat down on the toilet, anxiously awaiting that redemptive moment when all of those crazy little toxins exit my body. it's kind of like christmas. or watching that first set of chemicals turn your "blank" emulsion paper into an actual photograph. it's exciting. freeing. but nothing came. well, a few drops maybe but what's a drip or two when you've got a bucket full? it was like the colorado river trying to pound down the hoover dam. i had never had this problem before so i chalked it up to my current state of 'too-hung-over-for-things-to-work-properly-on-the-first-go'. and i pushed again. harder this time. with some real force. "OWW!!" more drops came. about the same as last time, but these were discolored. with a tint of pink. the way diluted blood might look. and that's when 'unfair voice' chimed in. "you're dying," it said. "all of the sediment from that red wine has plugged your urethra and from this point on all you can do is wait. wait until you explode." panic set in. my forehead began to sweat. profusely. i just sat there on the toilet. partially hoping that at everything would somehow just come gushing out. but moreso because i couldn't seem to move. i was too scared. i yelled for james, who was fast asleep in the other room. he came in to see what was wrong. with a cracked voice that shook from the struggle of holding back tears, i explained what was going on. he offered up that it was probably a UTI, that i should just stay there for a bit and he'd go buy me some cranberry juice and then do some online searches to see what he could find. while he was gone 'unfair voice' took some cheap shots. "if you had listened to your parents you'd have a full-time job with benefits right now. you'd have health insurance and then you could just go to the doctor. but you don't because you're rebellious and unworthy of their love. so now you're going to die. cold and alone on this bathroom floor."
james returned with cranberry juice. real cranberry juice. forget sugar. forget flavor. this shit was hardcore. pure juice and bitter as fuck. i took a huge gulps. secretly praying to god--who even more secretly i was cursing--that this would somehow fix everything. heal me. instead it made me vomit. james heard me and ran in. he held my hair back while saying soothing things over and over. when i got a bit of control over my stomach he told me that from the symptoms i was showing it most likely was a UTI. and the only way to treat one of those was through antibiotics that would need to be prescribed. meaning, that somehow in the middle of the physical state i was in, i would need to find a doctor. a cheap one. "cheap" being less than $20. because i was fucking broke. and jobless.
i lost it at that point. started bawling like a child. i was so tired and hung-over and just downright afraid... i wanted to die. such pains had over-taken my body that i had been rendered immobile. and there was nothing that i could do about them. there was no way to make myself better. i felt a complete loss of control. like the floor had bottomed out beneath me. and i was falling. depending on gravity or lack there of to take over from there. that's when the 'voice' came back in for the kill. "you're going to die. no doctor will see you for free. you might as well repent now. think about what you've done."
but i didn't. instead i laid on james' bathroom floor and thought about why i was as afraid as i was. what was it about physical pain that got me every time? i've dealt with emotional crap all my life. it just seems as though i am wired to be melodramatic. and while it is less than pleasant it definitely doesn't have that same 'throw in the towel', crumbling effect that sinusitis or pulled tendons has on me. i decided that it must be the shell theory. that my body is all i've got grounding me to this life. once it's gone i'm fucked. and even though this life isn't necessarily the best part about existence...it's the only thing i am overly sure of these days. that i am alive. here. now. i'm not really ready to experience whatever comes next. because what about god? what if he's a prick? what if i'm the biggest disappointment he's ever known? or, what if there is no god? what if i've spent nearly my entire life worrying about pleasing something that doesn't even exist? fuck. but neither of those options would bother me more than finding out that god is real. and that he's completely benevolent. that he loves every single thing about me. and wants nothing more than for me to enjoy what he's made. to bask in love. because that would mean that i've wasted more time than i care to think about. so much time dwelling on judgment and being judged that i missed the whole point.
i'm not sure that i really came to any conclusion about the after-life that day (or that i even have one now). but i will say this, that was the day i found the downtown public health clinic. they did see me for free. and the medication they prescribed for me only cost me $5. if there is a god, which i'd have a hard time convincing myself that there wasn't, that was a pretty generous hook-up. so thanks.
there is very little in life that spooks me more than having no control. and although to a certain extent i can shape the way my overall health is (i.e. eating well, avoiding smoking, exercising, etc)...in the end i'm still just a girl at battle with the elements. a victim of yeast infections on false cancer scares.
last night i felt a pain in my gut. in my bladder to be exact. looking back on it i'm sure it was nothing. indigestion. but looking back further, all the way to the day following easter of the year before last, i remember my first urinary tract infection. and a very similar pain. i remember waking up and having to pee so badly. red wine has that effect on me (eh, as does any other liquid), and seeing that i had easily consumed a bottle and a half alone... i thought my bladder was going to explode. so i jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and sat down on the toilet, anxiously awaiting that redemptive moment when all of those crazy little toxins exit my body. it's kind of like christmas. or watching that first set of chemicals turn your "blank" emulsion paper into an actual photograph. it's exciting. freeing. but nothing came. well, a few drops maybe but what's a drip or two when you've got a bucket full? it was like the colorado river trying to pound down the hoover dam. i had never had this problem before so i chalked it up to my current state of 'too-hung-over-for-things-to-work-properly-on-the-first-go'. and i pushed again. harder this time. with some real force. "OWW!!" more drops came. about the same as last time, but these were discolored. with a tint of pink. the way diluted blood might look. and that's when 'unfair voice' chimed in. "you're dying," it said. "all of the sediment from that red wine has plugged your urethra and from this point on all you can do is wait. wait until you explode." panic set in. my forehead began to sweat. profusely. i just sat there on the toilet. partially hoping that at everything would somehow just come gushing out. but moreso because i couldn't seem to move. i was too scared. i yelled for james, who was fast asleep in the other room. he came in to see what was wrong. with a cracked voice that shook from the struggle of holding back tears, i explained what was going on. he offered up that it was probably a UTI, that i should just stay there for a bit and he'd go buy me some cranberry juice and then do some online searches to see what he could find. while he was gone 'unfair voice' took some cheap shots. "if you had listened to your parents you'd have a full-time job with benefits right now. you'd have health insurance and then you could just go to the doctor. but you don't because you're rebellious and unworthy of their love. so now you're going to die. cold and alone on this bathroom floor."
james returned with cranberry juice. real cranberry juice. forget sugar. forget flavor. this shit was hardcore. pure juice and bitter as fuck. i took a huge gulps. secretly praying to god--who even more secretly i was cursing--that this would somehow fix everything. heal me. instead it made me vomit. james heard me and ran in. he held my hair back while saying soothing things over and over. when i got a bit of control over my stomach he told me that from the symptoms i was showing it most likely was a UTI. and the only way to treat one of those was through antibiotics that would need to be prescribed. meaning, that somehow in the middle of the physical state i was in, i would need to find a doctor. a cheap one. "cheap" being less than $20. because i was fucking broke. and jobless.
i lost it at that point. started bawling like a child. i was so tired and hung-over and just downright afraid... i wanted to die. such pains had over-taken my body that i had been rendered immobile. and there was nothing that i could do about them. there was no way to make myself better. i felt a complete loss of control. like the floor had bottomed out beneath me. and i was falling. depending on gravity or lack there of to take over from there. that's when the 'voice' came back in for the kill. "you're going to die. no doctor will see you for free. you might as well repent now. think about what you've done."
but i didn't. instead i laid on james' bathroom floor and thought about why i was as afraid as i was. what was it about physical pain that got me every time? i've dealt with emotional crap all my life. it just seems as though i am wired to be melodramatic. and while it is less than pleasant it definitely doesn't have that same 'throw in the towel', crumbling effect that sinusitis or pulled tendons has on me. i decided that it must be the shell theory. that my body is all i've got grounding me to this life. once it's gone i'm fucked. and even though this life isn't necessarily the best part about existence...it's the only thing i am overly sure of these days. that i am alive. here. now. i'm not really ready to experience whatever comes next. because what about god? what if he's a prick? what if i'm the biggest disappointment he's ever known? or, what if there is no god? what if i've spent nearly my entire life worrying about pleasing something that doesn't even exist? fuck. but neither of those options would bother me more than finding out that god is real. and that he's completely benevolent. that he loves every single thing about me. and wants nothing more than for me to enjoy what he's made. to bask in love. because that would mean that i've wasted more time than i care to think about. so much time dwelling on judgment and being judged that i missed the whole point.
i'm not sure that i really came to any conclusion about the after-life that day (or that i even have one now). but i will say this, that was the day i found the downtown public health clinic. they did see me for free. and the medication they prescribed for me only cost me $5. if there is a god, which i'd have a hard time convincing myself that there wasn't, that was a pretty generous hook-up. so thanks.