The Insanity Of It All

Last week saw me in the ER for chest pain (again). The first time I did that was posted in Dark Trails (here). It was just a matter of an injury to the cartilage around my sternum, and every heartbeat hit that injury, sending pain shooting through my chest – so you probably see how that could be confused with a heart attack.

Now back to the story at hand. I was back in the ER again with chest pain. This really isn’t a normal thing. See, I have a healthy heart. I know I have a healthy heart. My cholesterol borders on too low. I have had the tests. I am not obese (but admittedly I am overweight). The only known risk factors I have for heart disease are that I am male and my age.

So why was I back in the ER, and safely at home to write this out for anyone to read (or maybe no-one)?

The story goes back before last week. It had been building up. There were signs, but I didn’t recognize them, nor did the people around me. I was growing to hate being out shopping; when there I would just want out of the store as quickly as possible. It seemed more and more often, I was looking for ways to not spend time with friends (unless they came to my house).

It was becoming easier to hurt my feelings. It was becoming easier for me to become angry or frustrated.

At work it just always seemed to be worse. Until it went all out on me. I have been dealing with sore leg for weeks now. I thought something was cutting off the blood flow to my calf muscle (like a blood clot). As my chest tightened, my breathing grew more shallow. I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t tell what, but I knew something was wrong.

I asked a co-worker to tell me if I looked pale or sweaty. I sent email to a couple trusted friends, one of whom is studying to be a nurse. The word I got back was that I need to see a doc. I tried to argue about the health of my heart. Then I realized. A nurse just told me to see a doc. For me to argue would be dumb. I left work and went to the ER.

My heart was still healthy. There was nothing wrong on the EKG, blood pressure, or any other test given (including a cute nurse test). I did not have blood clots in my leg. The doc diagnosed it as tendonitis.

The problem I really had that day was a full blown panic attack. Since then I have no choice but to admit I have signs and symptoms of depression and anxiety disorder. I have been experiencing phobias (especially agoraphobia) that I never felt before. I get easily panicky about stuff I should get panicky about. I could cry at a moment’s notice (if I didn’t have the willpower to keep the tears in).

I will now take medication for it. I will go and talk to a counselor and try to find why it happened in the first place. Though my guess is that being used like I was, the death of my wife, the insanely awful treatment from her family, and of course Sulpicia treating me like shit and taking money from me that never deserved so she could have her vacation in Mexico all added up to be more than I could handle.

At this point, I keep imagining that Michele will read this post and feel so proud of the work she did on me that she’ll have an orgasm without even touching herself. After all, how many women get the chance to say that they drove a man past his breaking point?

So there it is. Another ER visit. Every day brings new hell right now. Every day is a fight to get back to where I should be. I know I need help, and I’ll get that help