Inquiring Minds Want to Know

                                                 Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

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When you're sick, inside and out, your life is governed by more questions than answers. I'm permanently perplexed. Why me? Why am I anxious, without fail, when the clock strikes six p.m.? Why am I afraid to give myself permission to feel okay for just one damn minute? When will my ruminating, futurecasting, catastrophizing give way to gratitude, serenity, inner peace? What’s going on with me?

My handwriting is tiny and getting tinier. It's Lilliputian, for garden gnomes and wood nymphs. It's also a hallmark of Parkinson’s. I command my hand to write bigger letters, but it won't. The synapses are not synapting (not a word, but I like the rhythm of the sentence). More questions. What the hell is happening to my handwriting?

What would cure me, of course, is a whole bottle of something other than Tylenol. I'm so over the placebo directive from my phalanx of medical professionals: Take two Tylenol and call me in the morning.

It's as if my doctors can't hear the words behind my words. Words like: I want to be loved. I want to be healthy. I want to live.

It's been 35 years since I've been laid. They say use it or lose it and I'm afraid I've lost it. Three and half decades is a long time and yet, I'm not altogether lonely. I have people and for that, I'm fortunate. Romance is decidedly overrated and anxiety-inducing for septuagenarians, but secretly I know it would be fun to try. I would be all-in and dress the part, from my Chanel shoes to my Johnny Was tunic, before sharing certain things about myself. 

The sartorial splendor would perhaps distract my would-be prince from certain inquiries -- like, how's your mental health? How's your physical health? Your brain chemistry?
Do you have any mommy issues? Daddy issues? 

So there it is. I've figured out one thing as least. While being in an intimate relationship would provide a welcome distraction, the would-be suitor's questions would inevitably compound my questions, resulting in a life rife with endless inquiries. It's safer to stay right here, reciting The Serenity Prayer, trying to forget my family-of-origin story while focusing on my chosen family here and now. 




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