Usually I blog about my children. After all, that's the main reason I started this blog. But sometimes a mama has to simply blog about herself. This is a very serious issue that I struggle with, and I thought I would share it. Only I'll add a pinch of humor and a dash of insanity, and call it me.
Anxiety. It's no joke. It takes over your life, and binds your happiness with unbreakable chains. It grabs a hold of you and consumes you with a paralyzing fear. It sends you running to the doctor's every time you get the hiccups, and has you running around your backyard, like you're a beheaded chicken. You find it hard to function and to cope, with any piece of reality, in front of you. Your heart races, you get dizzy, tingling, numb. And then you remind yourself what it is, and poof! It's gone! And this is me. My name is Carey Graffam, I'm 36 years old, and I have suffered 1,692 heart attacks, 963 strokes, 836 aneurysms throughout my body, and countless other illnesses and diseases.....in my mind. On the outside, usually, I look completely normal. On the inside I look and act like Stuart Smalley taken hostage by the Grim Reaper. Sure I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it people like me. But, what does that even matter? My impending doom is lurking around the corner. I have a helpless feeling of gloom. And I succumb to it constantly. I'm like Eeyore on steroids. I don't have a rain cloud over my head. I have a massive tsunami hanging over me, and at any moment...BAM! It's going to wash me into the abyss of pulse and circulation checking. Why am I this way? Who knows. I have had more testing than a rat in a cosmetic's lab, and yet I'm never satisfied. And that's only because these doctors, who have gone to school for years, and treated people, for even more years, know absolutely nothing. Obviously. I mean seriously? You can't even diagnose that, not only do I have heart disease corroding my heart, but I also have 18 forms of cancer? I am a proficient at this. I know what I'm talking about. I have read millions of Yahoo questions and answers, and have diagnosed myself on WebMD for alot longer than these people have been doctors. Those 30 echo-cardiograms mean nothing to me. I know what I feel....I'm feeling it, dammit! I am the poster child for hypochondriacs anonymous. If it's out there, I feel it. I can't even skim the newspaper, and see an article for heart medication without getting palpitations. This is my life. It's frustrating and hilarious at the same exact time. Because the truth is that I am a perfectly healthy woman, which is the frustrating part. And I work myself up, for absolutely no reason, and make it so bad, I'm crawling on my hands and knees telling my son to call for an ambulance-and the sad part....they know me by name. So, at this point, I have decided that I should be laughing at this. Why not. I am who I am. I am that woman who goes to the store, gets sweaty hands, and has to look in the mirror to a) check her pupils for dilation, and b) pep talk herself down. I have become my own cheerleader. "You're okay Carey! You are wonderful and healthy! You got this girl! You got this!" I am me. I am the 40 million who suffer from this debilitating disorder. Will it ever change? Who knows. But one thing that I do know....I am like almost every other person in the room. But the difference is that I can laugh about it, while checking my heart rate. I can smile while paralyzed on my entire left side. And I can cope, because I'm smart enough, I'm beautiful enough, and gosh darn it people like me.
