Tag Archives: tendonitis

Answer Me! Pt. 2: Answers!

Ok, so I made you guys wait a little while for this. I’m sure you were on tenterhooks these past 8 days. I’m here to relieve you.

The question is sort of a meaningless li’l ponderable that came to me when I was, of course, in the shower washing my face with my eyes scrunched up real tight. I think it was super windy or something that day and I was worried about a power outage while in the shower, ’cause at best that’d be kinda slapsticky but at worst, I’d get like a cracked skull and die in my tub which, if I were able to become so postmortem, would make me really pissed off. A slip and fall in an unlit shower at age 28 is not how this lady is going out. That’s dumb.

Even so, I still went with: B. Blind! Shit! Shit! Fuck! Shit!

My general guess about what the hypothetical “means” was this rough dichotomy:

A: Power outage = you’re probably prone to becoming a little paranoid about the state of your life which you regard as precarious, making you slow to let your guard down.

B: Blindness = you’re a hypochondriac that assumes all fevers are typhoid, all cuts are gangrenous, all aches and pains are rheumatic, all plagues are bubonic (calm down, it’s just a plain old plague, pal).

‘Cept when you guys answered, you kinda steered me in a few different directions. I hadn’t really taken into account personal histories with either vision loss or frequent power outages (stupidly, nor did I expect some of you to come up with modified or third answers, Acid and Illuminati, I’m looking at you guys, you made me laugh).

So what does it allĀ mean, man? It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just a goofy question that can be tediously analyzed and parsed apart for significance, or it can just be a silly conversation starter. Ask your coworkers! Ask your friends! Ask whoever. Why not?

But, in truth, I am kind of a hypochondriac. I blame my dad. He was an even better weirdo than I am, and if I could ask him this question, I know how he’d answer but I also know he’d think about it for a really long time beforeĀ and after saying anything. But let’s just say this post and its sibling are celebratory gestures regarding the completion of my physical therapy for my ankle tendinitis, which I assumed was a horrible, degenerative joint disease with no cure, causing me to have a like maybe 2 panic attacks a few months ago before I went to the doctor to have it looked at and diagnosed. At this point, after like 6 weeks of physical therapy, my ankle is nearly well enough for me to return to my MMA class which I miss a bunch. Also, after like 6 weeks of physical therapy, my right leg is visibly more muscular than my left, which means my roundhouse kicks are gonna be fucking lethal when I get back to the gym. Seriously, you guys, I could probably kick a tree over with this thing, it’s pretty cool.

I’ve always been a big fan of personality quizzes, ever since I was like maybe 11, reading teen magazines and taking quizzes like, “What Lipstick Shade Are You?” and “What Do Your Dreams Say About Your Love Life?” (The answers being, respectively: coral in the summer, brick red in the winter, fuck the quiz, I know my complexion; AND a series of unending rabbit hole nightmares, apparently…?). But I have this theory (don’t I always?) that personality quizzes are not particularly simple for those of us with bipolar, because our behaviors and self-assessments are perhaps a li’l more malleable than the average bear’s. This feels especially true* when I answer questions pertaining to introversion/extroversion. Do I consider myself introverted? No, but I did most of last week. Would I rather go to a party or stay home and read a book? I dunno, is Thursday purple this month? I don’t mean to imply that we’re so mercurial a group that we lack static personality features entirely, but I also don’t mean to say that these types of quizzes will provide us with much insight about ourselves (I mean, they don’t for most people anyway, but I think even less so for us).

Anyway, if I come up with any more seemingly ponderous but actually completely trivial hypotheticals, I’ll share them. Just don’t think too hard about your answer. You’ll sprain your neurons er something.

-LB

*The part of me that studied Philosophy in college really hates the notion of something feeling true, apparently enough to prompt this footnote, but it’s just rhetoric, so calm down, Laura.

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Do, Do Doodoo

Good gravy, I disappeared for another goddamned month again. Nothing exciting has been happening. I’m on Depakote now and I’m paranoid that it’s giving me the stupids and making my vision blurry and if there’s something in my midst that can be crafted into a complaint, then it definitely, definitely will be.

Oh wait, my tendonitis. Or tendinitis. Both are correct spellings and that fucking bugs me what with my being a stickler about things like spelling and grammar (you guys, I’ve totally gone back and edited months-old posts for tiny errors like a me vs. my typo, even though probably no one will notice and also they’re really old posts. Just a testament to this particular neurosis). ANYway, I have tendonitis in my right ankle. It hurts. I have to wear a brace. The brace only fits in my Chucks. The worst: I can’t go to my MMA class on Sundays or work out the same way at home during the week. I won’t be able to return to class for about 3 months. I’m gonna get all out of shape and lose the awesome muscles I was developing and I miss the environment in general. The women in my class and the women who teach my class are great. I enjoy myself, I get to push myself. Good stuff. Also, all that shit about exercise being beneficial to mental health has been true so far in my case.

So I’ve been grousing about my ankle injury messing with my routine a whole lot more than I’ve been trying to come up with modifications or temporary solutions because griping is easy. Yesterday in therapy, I said to my doctor, “My laziness has ambitions.” Which is unfortunately true. I’m not a self-motivator. I have trouble sticking to routines when no one’s holding my feet to the fire. That’s partly why I joined a class rather than buy a gym membership, the latter of which would require me to decide when and how often I go, which would make for a very enthusiastic first week that’d quickly drop off into a money pit by the end of the month.

What now, then? I don’t have the time or energy to tackle this entirely right now, but in therapy this past week I decided I wanted to start setting some goals for myself in order to figure out what it is I really want from life (’cause I have very little idea), which would then inform my approach to treatment. I’ve jettisoned more than a handful of careers – and the sense of identity that accompanies them – over the past 10 years. I’ve been unmoored for a long time. I insisted to my therapist that second chances are inherently shittier than first chances and she disagreed so I said, “What’s your argument?” She said the second time around, I’d be more likely to understand what I want and don’t want. I’ll agree with that, but it gets messy when I remember how sure I was of what I wanted when I was 16, 17, 18, 19. K, granted, 16 year-olds don’t typically have a very clear picture of the future, and one has more latitude to dream big at that age, but I didn’t expect something as theoretically straightforward as knowing what I want from life to lose its shape so unrecognizably. I’m gonna get back to this ’cause it’s a problem for me that I haven’t been able to grip very firmly in the last few years. I’m…perturbed. About all of everything.

Today, I have more options than obligations. I think that’s what most people call a weekend. I have a very chill friend date tonight, so I won’t be cloistered in the house like some days. But I have about 5-6 hours to kill before then. What to do…I may never stop wondering.

-LB