I got a bad cold about three weeks ago, and I was just starting to feel better, when yesterday, the dizziness started. I know the dizziness well and have lived with it periodically for about five years. The worst was a year and a half ago, when I had to leave work early four times, and only entirely regained my sense of balance after a month, or two.
On that occassion, I went to the doctor, hardly able to stand, and he found nothing wrong with me. I told him what medication I was taking. I was on psychiatric meds, and that was that. I was crazy. I was having a breakdown. He prescribed nothing, and seemed offended that I bothered him. God, I hate doctors.
I only know, now, that it's the cold and allergies because four, or five months ago, I was really dizzy and my ears were hurting following a cold and a solid month of coughing and sneezing. I thought I had an ear infection, but the doctor, the same doctor as before, (I hate going to doctors so much, I don't want to take the effort to find a new one,) said I didn't have an ear infection, but my canals were red and swamped with mucus. He gave me Clariton-D and Nasonex, and I was fine in a week.
I'm sure I'll be fine this time too. I'm too thin: a hundred and thirty-pounds, five-ten. That's probably why I get sick so often, and it lasts so long. Plus, I smoke.
But, as you may have guessed, it's not just a physical issue. Sickness makes me crazy. It started in college. Senior year, I was a hundred and five pounds. I got a flu, and dropped ten pounds, to ninety-five. I was basically psychotic from eight to eighteen, following the two years of sexual abuse. Senior year, when I was twenty, twenty-one, I was in a transitional state.
Some of my thoughts were bizarre. I wasn't living in a fantasy world, but I wasn't exactly in touch either. Like, I thought I could bode the future with my writing and the things I said. I saw meanings, that were not there, in every word I conveyed. After the flu, I lost it completely. I was delusional. I thought I had started a riot at my campus, and I was in the newspapers, and people were out to kill me. It ended with me in a hospital for two weeks, and my thoughts becoming more normal, the insanity withering.
I'm twenty-six now, and my life is okay. I live alone. I have a steady job. I write all the time, and hope to make that my career. But the breakdown still haunts me. It actually wasn't my first, though it was the last. At eighteen, I wrote an e-mail to someone I barely knew, beginning "I fell in love with you, and I never felt this way before." Afterwards, as with the later incident, I made a tremendous jump in my progress. It was as if a mirror was held up to my face and I saw myself clearly, or more clearly. I was almost mute before, and then social skills came to me as if I had always known them somewhere.
I think my mind has, since the breakdown senior year, correlated sickness with madness. I get panicky when I get dizzy. I'm afraid I'll lose everything. I'll be fired. I'll have to move back home with my mother. I'll have to start from scratch. I'll realize that my own thoughts are awry, and that all that I've believed has been wrong.
Colds don't do it. I'm used to colds. Luckily I get the flu shot now, because I think a flu would send me like a rocket off the deep-end.
I'm terribly neurotic, I know. In fact, I don't feel so bad, just kind of lightheaded. Anyone else understand this? During the abuse, I was sick quite a lot, and I had a lot of accidents. Those years are a blur. But I remember getting so many stomach viruses: so many, it seemed absurd. Maybe that's when physical illness became intwined with mental wellness. I don't know.