May 10, 2002
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This is supposed to be an exercise in self-examination, self-revelation–and it’s turning into self-ridicule. If someone else told me what I’ve been saying to myself, I’d know she was lying or denying. Denial is a tricky thing: when you’re in it, you never know. If you discover where you are, you’re out of it. I suspect denial, but I know nuffink.
Could it be I’m actually a gross malingerer, making myself sick to get out of work? Naah, that was a good guess, I guess, but it fails the test. It might have gotten me out of school sometimes, but not every time–I have so many memories of struggling sick through school days because Mama said I’d “already missed too much.”
As an adult, I’ve missed more fun than work. Work always has to be done, even when I’m too sick to dance, too sick for Tae Bo, too sick for sex. When I’m too sick to stand at the stove long enough to cook a meal, I have to eat the crap the old fart shoves at me. That’s why I got the kitchen stool, so I could sit to cook.
I would not consciously do this to myself. If my unconscious mind has it in for me to that extent, I’m a goner, fershure. Pass the marmalade; I’m toast. Put “unconscious malingering” on the “untestable hypotheses” list, and keep looking.
Comments (1)
When I woke up at 4:30 this morning, those same thoughts sort of filtered thru to me. “Am I making myself sick? Am I sick because of this reason or that reason?”
I came to the ultimate conclusion that I would not consciously do this to myself as well. And like you, if my unconscious mind is determining the course of my recent illness, than I am a goner fer sure too.
Three weeks, now. This morning my husband asked if we should go back to hospital and I said, “Why? What good would it do? Been there, done that …” This has been a domino effect sickness.
One thing leads to another and I can’t shake the feeling that I NEED to shake this feeling.
I have never been this ill. Not even with the Epstein-Barr some years ago. I’m sick of being sick, thus I get sicker.