Well...never underestimate the power of a hypochondriac with anxiety.
I wanted to share something that has gone down in "Rhoades Family Lore."
Our family used to go to Long Beach every year (the one in Washington), which is a kind of "resort" town on a peninsula on the coast of southwestern Washington...near the Oregon border. Every year the family would stay at the lovely Boulevard Motel (which has unfortunately closed) because they had these cool little "cabins" for rent, and you could walk out the back to get to the beach.
For me as a kid, there were two really cool parts of Long Beach (neither of which was the actual "beach"). The first was the sweet arcade. The second was the Go Karts.
Oh man. Those Go Karts.
Back in the heady days of the early 90s, Go Karts were pretty serious business. There were no accelerator restrictors, seat belts, or padding of any kind. The Karts were simple, welded metals frame toting a way-too-powerful engine.
We visited the Go Karts During one of our visits, in the year of our Lord 1991. This was the first year that I was legally "above the yellow line" that I had to be over in order to ride the "grown up" carts.
I strapped in and found out very quickly that, as a feather-light 11 year old, I could crank out some serious speed.
The only problem is that I was a "terrible driver."
This became evident during my third and final race of the day. I was coming around the second "hairpin turn". My brother Tim was hot on my tail, and I checked over my shoulder to see if he was gaining on me.
When I looked forward, all I saw was a wall of tires...which had been placed around the track to cushion the inevitable crashes from these overpowered vehicles. The wall is circled below:
I whacked into the tires at almost full speed (because braking is for pussies). A fraction of a second later, the bridge of my nose whacked the un-padded steel steering wheel. As my car caromed off the wall, my brother's kart whacked into my kart's rear bumper, catapulting me onto the front of his vehicle.
This all happened in the blink of an eye, of course. For me, one second I was looking over my shoulder, the next second I was sitting on the front of my brother's go-kart wondering what the hell had just happened and why my face hurt so much.
As this "blink of an eye" action all taking place, my father (who was standing outside the track watching) leaped over a 5 foot high chain link fence in a single bound (fence pictured below...it seemed much bigger when I was 11).
He ran to me, scooped me up in his arms, and hustled me in to our motor home (embarrassingly named Poopdeck Pappy).
As I sat there, probably crying, my dad was doing his best House M.D. to see if I was seriously injured. From what I recall, it mostly amounted to "standing over me and looking very concerned."
From what I could tell I was okay -- no bumps, bruises, broken bones, scratches, et cetera. However, with trepidation, I felt the bridge of my nose (that had contacted the steering wheel).
It had swelled to the size of a walnut.
I asked my dad in all sincerity, "Am I always going to look like this?"
"No," my Dad assured me.
When my family heard I said that...they thought it was pretty funny. At the time I didn't get it -- I thought it was a very valid fear.
To be honest, I still feel kinda' that way.
Because now I have something that won't go away. A lot of my time is now spent fighting back against this cloud of anxiety that I'm afraid is just going to consume me...or worse, is covering some kind of serious malady that I'm too embarrassed to mention to my doctor because now that I've already "cried wolf" several times this year.
I keep telling my brain that it's fine, and that nothing's wrong. My good-ish health has been confirmed by more than a half-dozen doctors from three different hospitals.
But my brain keeps trying to convince me that something is ruining me from the inside...and boy is that brain convincing.
I'm able to function normally, for the most part. It's not "debilitating," but when I have time to think about it, I silently fight against the fog that makes me occasionally dizzy, often uncomfortable, and always worried that something is wrong with me.
It sucks.
And it makes me wonder, will I always be like this?
I'm sure my dad will read this...and I wish he could give me the same comfort that I had when I was 11...but now that I'm a farty old know-it-all 33 year old, I've managed to convince myself that this "cloud" is just my new reality.
And that bothers me.
I keep fighting, of course. I've started exercising more. I'm trying to start "eating better." I'm trying to stay stimulated artistically (by writing...as well as acting in an upcoming production of "The Producers" -- TICKETS ON SALE NOW!!!). And I'm trying to not worry so much, though to be honest I never really worried that much before the anxiety struck.
I just hope that my efforts have some impact...because frankly, the fact that I'm not getting better, and the prospect that my current state of health is just my new reality is a bit depressing.
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