While my medical adventures drag on, slowed down by paperwork and the (un)availability of doctors, I am trying to take things easy, to eat healthy food, to go on enjoyable walks every day, to rest, and, of course, to read and write. You know already that writing about your life and problems can be cathartic and that reading has numerous benefits for your brain. When you combine the two, reading with writing, the result is a highly effective home-brewed potion against anxiety, worry, and even depression, a much better way to spend your time than watching TV or YouTube, stalking people on Facebook, or letting yourself be alarmed by Google’s worrisome results.
In my last post I believe I promised some big medical revelations this week, or some clues that would help to unravel my mysterious medical condition. Well, after several visits to doctors, after some pricking of the hand, some heated conversations, and, of course, significant medical expenses, I can confidently declare that Voltaire was right when he had said that
“The art of medicine consists of amusing the patient while nature cures the disease.”
Weight loss is a serious concern for millions of people all over the world, as you know only too well, but what you don’t know is that weight loss is becoming a serious problem for me as well, not because I am plump, portly, chubby, blubbery, pinguid, elephantine, or fat, no, I have never been so, but because my clothes have all become too large for me – they flutter about me like flags on a windy day – and where is all that rice and pasta going (?) I wonder because I eat well, at least three times a day, plenty of calories and proteins and fruit and vegetables too, and I lead a mostly domestic existence, that is to say, my fundament is good friends with chairs, and I don’t exert my body beyond agreeable daily walks around the neighborhood and trips to the supermarket to purchase food, and the worst part is that now that spring has settled in my little town and country and that a flood of sunlight has washed away winter’s cold and the flowers are blooming and the women start leaving more and more of their clothes at home I can no longer hide behind my padded winter jacket and so I cannot help but feel self-conscious and a little distressed, especially when it comes to being around people, and I am not panicking, no, I am calm, I breathe in and breathe out, I know I am not trapped in my body, I am life without boundaries, I am a beautiful mind, I am the adjective free, but it’s as if my metabolism has lost its logic and imagine how it must feel to want to go out and meet people and make friends and be around certain people and your clothes to refuse to accompany you and your mirror to throw you a depressing reflection, and so to sigh and lock the door and draw the curtains and hide in your room, where you are safe from other people’s eyes, from curiosity and pity, where you can write and write and write and forget your body and your own existence…