How My Problems Are Worse Than I Thought — And Denying “Reality” Again

How My Problems Are Worse Than I Thought — And Denying “Reality” Again
Photo generated by the author using Stable Diffusion.

The evidence is insurmountable. Perhaps everything’s not “just in my head.”


Checking In

Today, I went for my first medical checkup in years. Probably the first since before the pandemic. I’ve had a couple of concerns regarding my health. So this was a good way to get things cleared up.

The most visible was this lump that had formed on my right earlobe. If I had to guess, it could’ve originated from my headphone usage. But it’s been there for at least two years and hasn't receded.

The good news — it’s likely a benign cyst. So I shouldn’t need chemotherapy or amputation anytime soon. Although Googling “benign cyst” says you can still get blood poisoning. Thanks for the encouragement, I guess.

I’ll trust the actual doctor.

I’ve also had an unquenchable thirst for ages. No matter how much water I drank, I’d still feel parched. Yet it seemed like every 15 minutes, I’d need to use the restroom. So clearly I was drinking enough.

Lastly, even after a full night’s sleep, it would be a struggle to stay awake by mid-afternoon. I literally slept from 1:00 AM to 11:00 AM today. That’s 10 full hours of sleep.

Yet it already feels past bedtime at 6:00 PM right now.
I’m never energized at any point in the day.

So after conveying that information to the doctor, he concluded that I likely have an affliction called… I forgot already. Hypo or hyper-something. Something to do with glands.

What matters is not the name though, but the effect it induces — chronic stress.

My body is basically stuck in the fight-or-flight response. That is the root of my neverending fatigue and dehydration. And of course, there’s the underlying stress as well.

I never considered that I had chronic stress. “What do you have to be stressed about?” is something I’ve heard countless times. But there’s a lot on my plate when I think about it.

Worries about career prospects, interpersonal issues, the state of the world, recollections of the past, insecurity, trust, social anxiety, surges of anger, fears of being harmed, fears of doing harm, external pressures, and always wanting to do more…

The path forward is uncertain at best. Now that I’m consciously aware of this all, I’m feeling that crushing pressure on my heart. Plus I’ve literally had violently suicidal ideation previously, so I think it’s fair to say — stuff’s been happening.

Yet I still feel the best I’ve felt in ages. This year, I’ve made plenty of progress and gained much insight into the thoughts and mental afflictions I’ve suffered with for the better part of a decade.

I feel like I’ve soared from the bottom of the Mariana Trench to the top of Mount Everest. Yet apparently, I’m still chronically stressed. To the point where there are even physical issues stemming from it.

Perhaps I’d gotten used to the pressure. I’m doing relatively better compared to my past. I thought I was feeling great. But the bodily evidence can’t be denied.

There’s still a lot left to be resolved.
This makes me wonder — how bad have things really been?

How deep did these issues run? And how much further is there to go?

The word “chronic,” to me, makes an affliction sound like it’s completely ruining one’s life. I suppose my stress has indeed done that. But it doesn’t quite feel so because I’ve lived with it for basically… forever.

As a result, it doesn’t feel “as bad” as what imagery “chronic” conjures. Nothing I’ve normally experienced can live up to that term, because I am always associating it with an even worse scenario.

Something that was actually “worth” that designation.

I’ve only thought of the effects of anxiety and stress as mental. It was making me feel bad. But I’ve heard so much about how feelings aren’t real. They’re arbitrary. And so I was able to downplay my problems given that idea.

I felt bad that I felt bad. I wasn’t worthy. I was just weak. And everything I read reaffirmed that. My problems weren’t real. It was all in my head. Others had it way worse. Mine paled in comparison.

But now I’ve discovered there are indeed physical effects. I “felt” dehydrated constantly. I wondered if I was just imagining it. Maybe that’s just how I was. But it was a legitimate medical condition. So was my fatigue and inability to stay awake. They were very real with very real reasons.

I often feel this crushing sensation in my chest. One does have to question whether my risk of heart disease has skyrocketed. I’ve read that stress can do that. But I never really understood the concept.

These feelings aren’t meaningless. They’re the results of my actual circumstances. Precursors to something developing that clearly isn’t just in my head.

I don’t know to what extent one’s expected to play up to this charade. It’s manifesting as dehydration and sleep deprivation. Who knows where it will go from here?

Maybe at some point, this stress-induced chest constriction leads to me having an actual heart attack. And literally, as I’m falling to the floor, I’ll still be going — “It’s all just in my head! Problems aren’t real…- *dies*”

The health of my mind is closely correlated with the health of my body. That is something I‘m acutely aware of now. And so perhaps these problems I’m having aren’t as insignificant as I was made to think.

Even seemingly inconsequential worries can grow into real consequences.

This was an imposed notion I internalized that every problem must be in competition with one another, with an arbitrary arbiter serving as judge for what experiences are valid, and what are not.

It was an idea that served only to belittle and demonize experiences by the wielder’s discretion. That one should minimalize all their problems and ignore the detriments they impose, lest they be seen as delusional.

I’ve come to trust my instincts over these past months. And I’ve realized that no imposed notion that tries to counteract my experiences with what “is” and what “should be” is actually for my benefit.

To ignore everything my gut tells me has been the height of delusion.

So are my problems real? Am I allowed to have my worries?
Who cares.

To even make that a question means I believe there’s something to prove. But there’s no proof I need when the answer lies within me. Literally — within the now medically-diagnosed physiological maladies that I’m afflicted by.

This has been the wrong question to find an answer to. It never should’ve been asked in the first place. I need to address what I know has been affecting me. And I cannot ignore that fact if I’m going to move forward.

Self-validating the legitimacy of my problems isn’t going to change anything anyway. I still have to find my way through the root of it all. And I’ll still have to work toward a resolution to the best of my ability.

It often feels impossible to overcome. But I have to see these problems for what they are. I’ll worry and feel unashamed of my emotions. Because I refuse to stagnate and rot. I refuse to suppress my feelings — and the warning signs.

I will not be complacent in the degradation of my health and myself. And I will not undermine the seriousness of the challenges I face.

If that is a delusion, then so be it.