#i think my art’s developing same face syndrome even more i gotta fix that

[donnerpartyofone]

TL;DR - i finally got an MRI for my ear, which has been fucked up and constantly clogged since september and developed tinnitus in february, and apparently, supposedly, there is nothing wrong with it. so there’s nothing to do about it. so just like with my eye and my skin and my lung and my etc, i have a problem that i can’t do anything about, that i can’t even get the satisfaction of a diagnosis for, and i’m so pissed off about how much time and energy i’ve spent trying to improve things for myself when there was absolutely no point in doing so, that i just want to set my body on fire to really show it what i think of it.

i’m so, so mad. the last couple of months have been almost nothing but wall to wall doctor’s appointments, and with zero exception, they have all been a complete waste of time. it hurts because my body tortures me, of course, but it hurts worse than that because i convinced myself that i HAD to do this, that it was Mature to face my fear of doctors and generally the Right Thing to Do, when i absolutely didn’t want to do any of this at all.

i suffer a lot from an internalized impression of myself as being lazy, defeatist, and dramatic. it comes from a lot of places. i grew up in an environment where i was the only open depression sufferer, under one parent who definitely considered depression to be an antisocial behavioral problem, to be treated like any other shallow cry for attention. i also grew up in an environment full of obvious talents, all of whom would go on to be published, or even public figures, and not to be a complete asshole, but the idea that “you can do anything you put your mind to” is kept alive by people who have the baseline talent necessary to succeed at things they put their minds to. if you subscribe to the idea that success requires nothing other than commitment, then the implication is that all failure is a matter of laziness, petulance, and defeatism--never lack, never inferiority, never ordinariness. on top of all this, my personal interests--horror, sexually graphic media, comics, underground music movements, the usual roundup of morbid or antisocial cultural items--were considered pretty much...well, not very adult. so what i’m coming to is that if i can’t prove my adulthood in any way that has to do with who i am or what i’m capable of, then the very least i can do is Be Responsible. (and of course i get made fun of all the time for being an uptight rule follower but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, LITERALLY WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO)

one of the main ways you can Be Responsible, if you have the means that is, is to look after your health. the world is full of icky, boring, degrading, depersonalizing, and occasionally painful tasks that are necessary to keep the societal cogs turning. if you can’t make art or have ideas or be beautiful or become an athlete or whatever, you can still show that you’re alive and generally hygienic by going to the dmv, voting, showing up for jury selection, or going to the doctor. you can still grasp the final shred of integrity offered to you by doing things no one wants to do, but that we know are necessary for the vitality of self and society. so i’m extra good at doing stuff that people my age frequently shirk--the dentist appointments, the doing your taxes the second the forms come in, etc--because they’re sort of the only things i can do that prove that i’m not, you know, a complete piece of shit.

so this year, at the start of february, i decided i was going to get a real handle on my health. i’d been going to doctors for various things already, of course, even though it was pretty much never satisfying; the only thing i can think of that ever got fixed or explained was the pathological growth of scar tissue over my eyeballs, which required some pretty fucked up surgery. but at this time, i had a lot of problems building up. my left eye developed a small spot, and a constant glare that borders on having double vision. my right ear remained completely stuffed up since i had a cold last fall, and began to ring constantly at the end of the winter. my right lung has felt alarmingly tight and weak for...years actually. the right side of my face is constantly beet red, like i go fresh with somebody’s wife, and i can see how it’s thickening and bending my flesh all out of shape, which rosacea will do progressively and incurably throughout your entire life. i decided that instead of quaking in fear of doctors, and also in fear of wasted time, i was going to straighten my back and go nip this shit in the bud. after all, when you’re miserable but not doing anything about it, people kind of hate you, and then you have THAT problem on top of all your real problems. sometimes you gotta give the people what they want.

so how did it all go?

my skin: since no insurance company considers rosacea a medical problem, which is actually complete fucking bullshit, i decided to take matters into my own hands. i researched what rich people do for their uninsurable problem, and decided to use my recent (traumatic) inheritance to take care of myself. i tried three different preposterously expensive topical treatments that i was told are a “magic bullet” for rosacea, and all of them made my face blow up like a fucking macy’s day balloon. then, after four rounds of extremely expensive, painful and scary laser treatments, i had absolutely no results other than that my face was actually MORE reactive for about a month after the last one. i’m fucked.

my eye: according to my optometrist and ophthalmologist and corneal specialist it’s “just” regular scar tissue from my terrifying surgeries, not the pathological scar tissue that i had to have removed via terrifying surgery and localized chemotherapy. this kind of sucks because it means i can’t just get it removed again, but at least there is a slight chance that my body will reabsorb it like regular scar tissue. (oh yeah? and what’s my luck USUALLY like?) my only “treatment option” is to use eyedrops four times a day, which is actually extremely uncomfortable, and which pretty much means i’m just not allowed to wear makeup ever again.

my lung: after two rounds of clear x-rays and a breathing test that only detected slight asthma, through two GPs and a pulmonologist, nobody has anything to say about why i have this chronic breathing problem. there’s some indication that it might be a “muscular-skeletal problem” that’s putting pressure on the one lung, so i guess i need to add a physical therapist or something to my endless list of specialists.

my ear: two or three trips to urgent care (i forget how many now), two GPs, an ENT, a fucking weird hearing test, and an MRI have done absolutely nothing for me. after a cold with a sinus/ear infection last fall, my right ear remained permanently slammed shut; if i pop it, it closes back up in seconds. i do not have the same problem with the other ear, it is clearly a physical problem. in february, my ear began to ring agonizingly and has not stopped for a second. in all this time, i went through round after round of antibiotics, antihistamines, anti-inflammatories, steroids, etc. nothing works. no one can see any type of problem. apparently i have the option of electing to have a tube surgically inserted into my ear, although i can’t quite figure out what the risk factor is, both for my tinnitus, and for my hearing in general. 

and OF COURSE, depression: part of the stigma against depression is that it’s a choice, somehow. like fresh air and exercise and looking on the bright side are so effective that if you’re depressed, it must be because you LIKE IT THAT WAY, because otherwise you would use these simple and free cures for your so-called illness and it would be all over, right? anyway i kind of hate being depressed, and i’ve been working my fucking ass off trying to deal with it. i see a nutritional therapist (a licensed psychiatrist) who prescribed me a number of nutritional supplements that i do think help, but they are unthinkably hard on my stomach. i tried lexapro, and it made me feel so abnormal, and cut into my general quality of life so badly, that i didn’t keep it up. i tried a generic version of wellbutrin, and it made me violently sick to my stomach, and caused my ringing ear to ring deafeningly for days after a single dose. the brand name version wasn’t much better. then i tried lamictal, and felt totally great AND NORMAL for like a week, and then i got the rare and potentially deadly lamictal rash. sometimes this just indicates a basic allergy, and sometimes it indicates Stevens-Johnson Syndrome which causes something called TOXIC EPIDERMAL NECROLYSIS WHICH REQUIRES LONG TERM HOSPITALIZATION TO GROW YOUR SKIN BACK. i had to deal with this on the day of mandatory final exam presentations in a class where i was already struggling, and this was one of the darkest days i can recently remember. after this, my psychiatrist tried to prescribe me abilify, but after i started to hear about the side effects and personal testimony of certain friends, i decided i couldn’t handle it. very possibly, i just cannot be medicated for depression, unless i’m willing to sacrifice everything else around the depression too. 

...this is all pretty much a retread of an experience i had for a few years, a few years ago, where i was having these abnormal paps, so they constantly had to drill painful core samples out of my cervix to keep checking up on the NOTHING that was going on in there, until one day they were just like...uh your tests are coming back fine now, and we don’t know why they didn’t before, and it just doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do this anymore PLUS you could have just been sitting on your couch jerking off this entire time and it would have done exactly as much good as this cycle of being humiliated and tortured by doctors in a while that leaves you curled up in a ball sobbing every time. i’m still pretty pissed off about it, if you can’t tell.

so like i don’t know why the fuck i’m doing all this. i don’t know why i do anything. nothing fucking comes from even my most herculean effort except a relentless sense of mystery that is starting to border on satire. i don’t know why i have so many problems. i’m 38 years old and i’m in ok shape. i don’t have generalized immune issues or anything. my doctor said i have some of the best lab work she’s ever seen. why the fuck does all this shit happen to me. i’m trying so fucking hard to enjoy my life. it’s hard to be in mental and physical pain all the time, the latter for absolutely no coherent reason. i mean i’d rather have a bunch of random problems than like, lupus or MS or something, for sure, but everything that happens to me is so meaningless and arbitrary, i’m starting to get that feeling like god hates me. it’s also hard to have the constant feeling that so many people think that failure to enjoy life is exclusively a matter of “not trying hard enough”, being a pill, looking for attention. i don’t know what to do anymore. i’m real pissed. i think what i need is a change of philosophy, which will be a long hard road. at least i know it’s the one and only area where i, and only i, have some level of control. wish me luck.

#long post