When Everything is Going Well

Twelve days ago, I stopped drinking, Almost. Maybe. Not sure yet. A lifetime of substance abuse. Serious and destructive in my teens, in my twenties and thirties. Under control in my forties and fifties, sort of. I drink daily, two drinks, three drinks. Never drunk but unable to quit. Afraid to quit. Always worried that without my relaxing, day-end glasses of wine, life won't be worth living. Now I'm not sure this is true.

On Sunday morning, I ran ten miles and change. Thirty years ago, I did this weekly, sometimes twice a week. Long exploring runs throughout Washington, DC. National parks, nice neighborhoods, not-so-nice neighborhoods. That was before knee-bursitis hobbled me. Limited my runs to four or five miles at a shot, my weekly total to less than fifteen. There have been times I've been able to push out longer runs, including a ten mile race three years ago, but since Sunday was actually a quarter-mile longer than ten, this was my longest run in at least twenty years.

Eighteen months ago, I started blogging.  Writing at a local coffee shop, once or twice a week. I envisioned myself a curmudgeon. I believed that I had funny, insightful complaints about society. My blog would be my outlet. I would get attention and become a syndicated columnist. Paid to bitch – everybody’s dream. This didn't happen, or it hasn't happened yet. I'm not funny, and for the most part, I only write about myself. My writing sessions have expanded to four or five per week, and the stuff that comes out, all very personal. Not about society, except in ways that I mirror society. Self-exploration in a way that has allowed me to better understand myself and make some positive changes.

And here, at the start of a new year, a time when it is natural to take stock of your life, I've been thinking about the impact that writing has had on my physical and mental health. We all have nagging thoughts. Weight issues, financial worries, chronic injuries, relationship problems. Because I have OCD, my nagging thoughts probably nag a bit more than others'. And when those thoughts become unbearable, when I develop the courage to face a topic, when I decide to spend four to eight hours thinking and writing about a problem, I often solve that problem. Probably too strong a word. Most problems are unsolvable. But I gain understanding, acceptance, peace. I change or improve the way the problem affects me.

At times we need to step back and assess. It is easy to get caught up in the problem of the day. Assume that because something isn't right, everything is wrong. By looking back at what I was concerned about a few years ago, I realize that I'm a completely different person. I'm more confident, more balanced, kinder. Actualized, at least a little. Three years ago, all I could think about was how much I hated my job. Frustration with co-workers, my boss, my pay, my responsibilities. I felt like a loser. A smallish fish in a small pond. I compared myself to those around me. Their profession, their pay, their athletic ability. Everyone was more impressive. Everyone else had their act together.

I was agitated, quick to anger, quick to put myself down. Obsessive thoughts, Tourette’s tics, chronic injuries that limited my running, my overall fitness. Social anxiety – unable to connect with those around me. That was three years ago. Today? OCD, Tourette’s Syndrome, injuries, social anxiety – they are all still present. But they leave me less agitated, less angry. As my wife’s Buddhist guru, Tara Brach would say, “by exploring these subjects, by inviting them in, by spending time with my problems, I take away their power."  

Last Monday morning, I was riding the double high of a week without alcohol, and a Sunday morning run long enough to leave me fully winded. I was buzzing. Feeling like all of my problems were solved. My OCD has been simmering on low. The unattractive retching I experience when stressed, unexpected dry-heaves, and occasionally vomiting, has disappeared. Missing for four weeks. I don’t know where it went, but I’m glad it’s gone. Tourette’s tics, omnipresent, have become a non-issue. I’ve told everyone I know that I have Tourette's Syndrome. The tics are just part of who I am. Take me or leave me.

Monday morning, everything was cured. Throw away the Prozac and cancel my therapy appointments. Sign up for a marathon and book me to give a presentation at the chamber of commerce. I was fixed. My blogging, my self-analysis, my therapy, my incessant foam rolling. Changes to my running style, my form.  All of the things I’ve incorporated to combat these problems, they worked. Not a problem left in the world.

Monday afternoon, I was a mess. Elevated, agitated beyond belief. Obsessing about everything in my life. Unable to focus at work, unable to control my tics, even a little. I know these ups and downs are part of mental illness, and actually part of everyone's life. Mine are likely to be more dramatic than the next person's, but I am now blessed with the ability to understand what's happening. When OCD and anxiety strike, I'm not blind-sided. I don't lash out at my co-workers, my wife, my kids. I'm able to fall back on my experiences to weather the storm, knowing that tomorrow – or even later today – will be better.

For the first time since I started my self-improvement regeime of therapy and theraputic writing, I am able to look at myself, my overall being and say I'm better. Not cured. This stuff isn't curable. But I'm better, much better, than I was.

Double Vision

The timeline is fuzzy. It's hard to remember when it all started. And because I've bounced around with doctors – can't remember their names, moved to a new state – getting clarity would be a lot of work. If not impossible. At some point in my adult-life I stated having trouble with double-vision. Strabismus is the medical name. While I can't remember when it started, I know I got it surgically fixed in 1999. And now it's back.

The last half of the 1990s were a tough time for me. A horrific bicycle accident – cut off by a minivan. Internal bleeding, collapsed lung, badly deconstructed shoulder, and huge head trauma. I would call it a concussion, but that just doesn't do it justice. I fully lost 18 hours – no recollection at all – while my brain was trying to descramble enough to encode memories. Just as well, I'm sure those were the worst hours of my life. Good ones to lose. And in the years-long recovery from the accident, my Tourette's-associated eye-tics began.

My tics were quick, straining, eye rolling movements. My eyes felt swollen in my head, or like they had air trapped behind them. The eye rolls were an attempt to relieve that pressure. Unaware that I had Tourette's Syndrome, I tried to get medical help. I can't remember how many Ophthalmologists I saw. At least two, probably three. I really only remember the last one. A highly regarded doctor in Bethesda, Md. He eventually learned to hate me. A patient who repeatedly came with a vague complaint. "My eyes ache." Multiple eye exams, tests, a biopsy, he even plugged my tear ducts in an attempt to make my eyes less dry. Nothing worked, I could hear his frustration when he talked to me.

Sometime during this period, the double vision started. Mostly at night, when I was tired, when my eyes were spent, used up from the day. Reading a book or watching a video, typically with a glass of wine. My brain would temporarily lose the ability to bring what each eye was seeing into one picture. I got two, one above the other, just a bit apart. Frustrating. My choices were to pack it in for the night or to cover one eye and continue. To my doctor, this was a relief. A measurable eye-ailment, something that can be fixed. This became the focus of the eye appointments. The vague achy-feeling was forgotten.

Double-vision or Strabismus is typically fixed one of two ways. Either by creating prism lenses in glasses that physically bend the image one is seeing into the direction that the eye now wants to face, or by surgery – essentially cutting and repairing the eye muscles so that the eyeball faces the correct way. I had both treatments. My Strabismus was progressive. The prisms in my glasses worked for a while, but 6 months later the double-vision was back. More prism, more time bought, but ultimately surgery was necessary.

And everything was fine for over a decade.

And then it started all over again. Split images, mostly at night. After a long day. Long car trips. Alcohol makes it worse (not several, one drink is all it takes). Lots of eye-appointments. Small prisms, larger prisms. I've been wearing my current prism prescription for over a year, and my vision has been great. No double-vision at all. A temporary cure. Somewhat out of mind.

And then I had a freak accident. Playing racquetball, my friend Fred elbowed me in the eye. He's a big dude. 6' 2'', 240, muscular. He's a farmer. Carries heavy crap around all the time. Me, I'm a little dude. 5'9", built like a runner. He actually launched me up into the air. When my glasses were fixed, when the swelling went down, when most of the black and blue drained away, my double-vision was back. Worse at night, but somewhat present all the time.

When I went for a second opinion the doctor verified what I already heard. Give it a month or two, but it probably isn't going away. More prisms, maybe, or more surgery, likely. And then he said something really interesting. He asked my why I had Strabismus in the first place. If anyone ever took any time to figure out what was causing it. And this, I contend is the problem with almost every doctor I've ever visited. Quick to treat the symptoms, but not much thought put into the cause. I get it. Looking for the cause takes more time. Research, data, trial and error. Nail the symptom and the problem is gone – at least for now. It's about what the insurance company will reimburse, which is not an hours-long discussions about lifestyle, diet, family history.

This doctor didn't spend any time trying to figure out why I had Strabismus either. At least he acknowledged it. "You're just here for a second opinion, my opinion is that you should wait a month and see a specialist if it doesn't go away."

So here I am, waiting it out. I've made the appointment already. It takes time to see a specialist. Another six weeks or so. Three full months since my racquetball game. Double-vision every evening, many afternoons, some mornings. Limited reading time. Difficulty getting stuff done at work. Going to bed early, cranky because I can't see. And wondering whether once fixed, it is just a matter of time before it all starts up again.