Being a hypochondriac sucks. It sucks because it’s draining on your loved ones, it sucks because it’s all encompassing, it sucks because you convince yourselfâ€”over and over and over and over againâ€”that something is wrong. And even when you calm yourself down, you think, “Well, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean something isn’t wrong.” A cycle. A terrible cycle.
Example: Over the past few weeks my eyes and fingers have been swelling, and my mouth is really dry. So am I in health trouble? Or am I just letting my brain doom my psyche? Am I imagining very real feelings? Am I creating them? Am I nuts?
I hate this crap. Really, really, really hate it. Over the years, I’ve been dying of: Brain cancer, skin cancer, testicular cancer, kidney failure, colon cancer, etc … etc. It’s always somethingâ€”always, always, always. The worst part is that we hypos feel the need to seek reassurances from everyone and anyone. Hence, the words, “Do you think I might have …” begin significantly too many sentences.
I want to change. I need to change. I tell myself to be strong; to accept whatever comes my way; to deal.
But this is my struggle and, as a result, my family’s struggle.