Have had a very rough few days, being a hypochondriac and all.
For about a month I’ve been suffering left-side headaches, coupled with some recent nausea (just a little; no vomiting). Last night, for the first time in forever, I couldn’t sleep. Head hurt but, mostly, my thoughts were running crazy. I have a brain tumor. I’m going to die. My kids won’t remember their father. They’ll have to visit me in the hospital to say goodbye. Over and over and over—thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. I tried thinking positively; tried using imagery—a lake, a basketball court, my childhood street. Nothing worked. Death, death, demise, demise. Finally I got up, walked downstairs and, around 3:50 am, turned on the TV and watched some Real Sports on HBO. Went back to bed a half hour later … probably got three hours of sleep.
This is not how I want to be, or who I want to be. Even if I do have a tumor … even if I am dying—I don’t want to cower; don’t want to waste my days under the covers, wishing away my inevitable demise. I’ve gone through this drill so many times, and it sickens me. Even worse, it sickens my family. Stress. Annoyance. Whatever.
Anyhow, this is why I have a blog—to vent.
I’m venting.
The thing that kills me is this—I’m blessed. Beyond blessed. Amazing family, so much love, living the life I dreamed of; doing the job I absolutely cherish. And yet, this one thing—this one seemingly inescapable thing—haunts me. It’s not death … it’s the hypthetical looming of death. Which, ironically, will cease when I die.
Fuck.
