Full of Broken Thoughts I Can't Repair

Teal Deer (TL; DR)

“Full of Broken Thoughts I Can’t Repair”

I’ve been struggling with anxiety and depression for decades. In the past 7-8 months, the anxiety got exponentially worse—mostly centered around food allergies and general health issues. (“Am I going to drop dead any second?” “I’m going to drop dead, aren’t I?” “Have I dropped dead yet?!”) It’s been a bitch to wrangle. Especially since my mother has weaponized her own hypochondriac anxiety for most of my life. It’s extremely toxic, and I’m terrified that I’m becoming her. But that’s only one side of a deeply fucked up bit of mental geometry. Another part I’ve been thinking about lately is pain and medical treatment and how dismissiveness in that regard can also contribute to anxiety—particularly as we age.

I have always had various health problems, likely due to being two months’ premature. But, since I got up to five pounds after a month in an incubator, most of them were brushed off as unrelated or just generally my own fault. Tripping and falling all the time was something that I, and everyone around me, chalked up to innate clumsiness. Cue years upon years of landing on my knees and banging them up, as well as countless sprained ankles. Somewhere in my late 20s/early 30s, my knees finally said “Enough!” They hurt constantly, not only after I’d landed on a sidewalk. One December, I was visiting my family and the pain was so bad that I was near tears. My dad hauled me to his orthopedic doctor, even though it was over the holidays. I think he dragged the poor man away from family time. So, that orthopedist did an assessment. Turned out that I had almost no cartilage in my knees and I needed to follow up with my own doctors and start PT when I got back to New York. Did I look into PT? Ha, no. Thank you, undiagnosed ADHD. But I did bring up the ortho’s diagnosis to my primary care physician.

Over and over and over again, for more than 10 years, I told my doctors about my knee pain. I’m sure you can guess what each and every one of them said. “Just lose weight and exercise.” Who knows what they were thinking? I was too young for actual knee problems, I was exaggerating, I was probably pill seeking, they just didn’t give a fuck, etc. Even well after I moved to Chicago in 2018, “lose weight” was the solution to this specific concern. I didn’t get a formal diagnosis of patellofemoral arthritis until 2023. (I was at the thinnest I’d been since adolescence. Coincidence? I think not.) And, yes, just like the Ohio orthopedist had said some 13-15 years before, turns out I have almost no cartilage left in my knees. It’s basically bone scraping on bone. By now, I’ve learned to live with the aches and the throbbing. I did physical therapy for several months before dropping off (thanks again, ADHD). I have a compression sleeve and a knee brace, and I try to remember to wear them. (I mostly fail. Shocker.)

I still feel like I must be faking it. Exaggerating how bad it is. Turning into my mother for attention. See also: the aforementioned ADHD, the Autism 1, the breathing issues, the dysgenesis of the corpus callosum, the keratoconus—and, of course, the depression and anxiety. It doesn’t matter that the knee pain is now documented, that it physically hurts and that’s material evidence, I’m clearly making a big deal out of nothing. Luckily, the rational part of me—however small it may be—has managed to edge out that voice when it comes to most of the conditions I live with. Yes, they are legitimate issues. But how many other things am I missing because they’re not a big deal? Am I going to find out in five to 10 years that all the head injuries I’ve sustained led to a TBI or mini-strokes or something? Or is that just the paranoia talking?

How do you know when it’s real? Because, either way, if you’re not actively bleeding all over the floor or something, many doctors will just say “Exercise and lose weight.”

The only weight I want to lose is the burden of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear.

Pot Bunnies*

I have just learned that the new nearby Auntie Anne’s/Cinnabon is opening this Saturday. That is the breaking news I needed to hear. It might not be what my blood sugar needed to hear but we’re not thinking about that. No, we’re thinking about pretzels.

In my head the title of this newsletter is from the Johnny Cash version of “Hurt,” not the Nine Inch Nails one. Yes, they are different songs. No, I can’t explain it.

Sitting here thinking about which of my Third Shift characters gives the best hugs. I’ve hit upon Joaquin and Elijah and I don’t know why I picked Elijah. Wait, yes, I do. I forgot that he’s Team Dad. He loves Joaquin and Grace like his own. There’s definitely a cuddler inside that lion shifter.

*Logged high, shared later.