As I find myself overwhelmed by some immense level of stress, caused by my decision to take on a suicidal number of classes and responsibilities, I finding that I'm sure, completely sure, that I must be dying. At least on the verge of death. I may not have any fancy proof or doctor mumbo-jumbo, but I do have a sore stomach, exhaustion, and don't sleep very well. Sure, some might say it's a combination of the aforementioned stress and a changing diet. I prefer to anticipate my imminent demise.
Specifically, I have lived with the constant belief that my appendix is constantly on the verge of bursting. No matter if my stomach feels sore, bruised, shook, or the pain is on my right or left (you never know, organs might switch sides), I take every discomfort as a shocking sign that my body has a ticking time bomb ready to explode. I should know better, I do know better, but I always manage to scare myself, at least for a moment, and think that I'm in mortal danger.
Why do we do this to ourselves? It's not a cry for attention, acting like some deluded character from a Jane Austen book. Much of these hypochondriac tendencies, I think those of many people, are personal foibles and fears, not public spectacles. Maybe we all enjoy the little rush that comes from momentarily facing some (imagined) grave danger, seeing our mortality for it's (somewhat) true nature, and want to feel it however possible. Or maybe we're just a nation of worriers who need something to induce a little personal panic. If the news on televisiton is any indication, the latter is probably more true...
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2 comments:
"A nation of worriers."
I completely agree.
I feel ya brother.
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