My Life As A Miserable Hypochondriac

My Life As A Miserable Hypochondriac

Hi. My name’s Rico, and I’m a hypochondriac. Like any other problem in life, acceptance is the first step to recovery. The issue is that I accepted my malady as fact long ago yet can’t do anything about it. In elementary school, I thought I had E-Coli after a two-day bout with the runs. In middle school, I convinced myself I had a brain tumor because I had persistent headaches. In college, it was alcoholism. Well, that one turned out to be somewhat true, but you get my point.

Now that I’m older, every ache and pain that comes my way convinces me something is horribly wrong. If I wake up and feel a little off, I’m sure it’s just nothing more than an ever growing mass of cells forming inside of me, zapping all my energy. If I wake up feeling great, I get worried about that too, because it’s when you have your guard down that something terrible comes along. Every day it’s something new. I spent Saturday evening at a BBQ, hanging out in someone’s back yard which allowed several mosquitos to dine on my lower extremities whilst I tossed back a couple of tall boys. Throw in a crappy night of sleep on Sunday due to a mild case of the Scaries, and what do I have Monday morning? Zika, obviously.

I had multiple bites, red, bleary eyes and mild joint pain. All the symptoms were there. A trained medical professional, or really just anyone with some common sense, would explain the red eyes to lack of sleep and the joint pain as just part of getting older, but that’s not what my brain says. My brain says **insert worst disease possible followed by prolonged and painful death** because my biggest fear in life isn’t dying, it’s knowing I’m going to die while withering away with some terminal illness.

People might ask themselves, “Well if you’re scared of getting sick all the time then just go to the doctor.” But that’s not an option either because I’m scared of them too. I’m such a hypochondriac, I’ve convinced myself that if I go to a doctor the only possible outcome is that they’ll tell me I have mere months to live due to a variety of poor lifestyle choices I manage to make on a fairly regular basis. So what do I do? I sit. And I think. And I come up with signs and symptoms only to brush them off because they’re just in my head. Or so I tell myself. The problem with this is when something serious does come along (because it will), how will I know it’s time for action? I’m the man who cries wolf on himself on a near daily basis only to be diagnosed with stage four cancer after ignoring all the warning signs while simultaneously taking no proactive measures to discover what’s going on inside my body. See, there I go again, convincing myself that something bad will inevitably happen.

But, alas. The time is nigh. Unfortunately, I have no choice in the matter. My company is switching healthcare providers and in order to qualify for the life insurance package everyone has to provide a copy of their most recent physical. Being that mine was a few years back, I’ve accepted my fate and booked a visit to the ol’ family Physician. It’s an appointment I’m already dreading and I can feel my blood pressure rise just thinking about it which makes sense because he’ll probably find I have early age heart disease, so what’s even the point in it all anyway? I guess in a way this post is my fare-thee-well. It’s been nice knowing everyone, and I’ll be seeing you by and by. And bye.

Image via Shutterstock

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People call me Rico. I enjoy boat drinks under a palapa.

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