[2019 Novel] Any Chronic Illnesses?

One passed another kidney stone, another had stomach issues, and I had a headache that felt like someone slapped me across the face to wake me up. Those aren’t scare tactics; if you’re willing to follow your dreams, like I did writing my first novel – “A Story About Self-Confidence: What’s In A Name?,” a month~long story at Eville Medical in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story” – then what’s a little short-term pain toward long-term gain?

Quite a lot.

The lifestyle I want to live is not an easy one, to be a writer of fiction, but my current lifestyle isn’t much better. For someone like myself, although I have quite a bit to that I can lose, there’s so much more that I can gain if I just keep working toward my dreams. There is a limit to human achievement. At least, to a certain extent. I calculated that it’d take me roughly three hours daily to write 2,000 words of fiction. I mostly hit that average. The problem with that is working full-time and needing to have relaxation throughout the day. Leisure is for the lazy, sure, but sometimes that rest is important. Running your mind and body in the redline will do if you establish a good pace. I’ve been writing daily for so long that it’s come up on a year since I haven’t written at least 500 words, and now after all this novel-writing business, I’m easily exceeding 1,000 words.

Yet there were days where I pushed myself.

There were also unnecessary job stresses that I blame for my chronic headaches resurfacing. If I had remembered all the agony I experienced four years, around the time of the cluster headaches and the panic attack just months prior to me starting this website as a creative endeavor to the serious technical support business I was building since I was sick of the corporate world, well, then, how might have my life gone differently? Would I have still catapult myself head-first into writing this novel? I have this wonderful product of my imagination that still compels me. I haven’t revisited it yet to do a commentary track for the whole thing, which I’ll probably do on my next two days off now that my headaches are under control.

What if I hadn’t done the writing?

Would I have still experienced the headaches? I think I’ve found the inciting incident of the headaches, and it wasn’t deciding what to call a character in some chapter, or spending an extra hour writing rather than resting. It was the same corporate bullshit I dealt with at the time I had my panic attack, of which two events caused that, and I have a feeling there will be more. If these were caused by anxiety, I don’t think antidepressants to suppress feelings will fix this issue. The corporate world and I play along well enough, but occasionally ram into each other. I’m not as fit for polite society as some. I would rather have less of mine than more of ours to be responsible for fixing. Throughout my career, I have surprisingly never held a pager or been on-call for exactly this reason. I don’t value any company other than my own enough to violate this sacred space I’ve carved out of my life for writing. This time right now, at 3:42am on a Friday morning, is mine. You might try to call me, and if you’re not in my phone list, I occasionally might answer for the hell of it, otherwise, it’s just me and the minibosses.

I’m not interested in annual review promotions.

What that means, though, is I must be careful because I can legitimately claim to have a chronic illness with these headaches, which means… fuck I hope no insurance company reads this essay. The extreme stress caused by corporate duress, all circumstances being a callous disregard for my emotional state, rather, dumping me with superfluous bullshit to parse through – whether in years past of being an extreme amount of work, or now, where some anonymous fuckboy complained that I was being too social when he socializes endlessly – without the room for actually completing that parsing work. How else can my mind handle it but throwing errors? If I’m lead down a 30-minute route of believing I could be fired for general harassment, only to be vaguely told that’s not the case, how else am I consciously suppose to react other than yessir and subconsciously by freaking the fuck out?

I think my chronic issue is regarding stress management.

Suppressing all physical emotions to the point of suicidal depression won’t help with that. Rather, a stark look at my own failures will be the only route through all of these overwhelming situations. Now that my headaches are, at their worst, a dull whisper than a loud banging across all areas of my head, I can focus on solving the long-term aspects of these headaches. Stress is as common to life as breathing, so how can I and we manage that but through figuring out release patterns for superfluous stress?

Escapism is the most common form of stress release.

If you can wade out the worst of the stress storm through some videogame, book, movie, or other mental masturbation, then you can arrive at your sacred shores scathed seldom more than had those waters been calm. However, there are better forms of stress release.

Exercising your body and mind will release those emotions.

Through actively writing these almost 1,000,000 words over these past three years, I have learned more about myself and what I value in life than I ever could have dreamed if I had passively experienced life to any degree. As soon as I notice a downshift in interest from active to passive experiences, I should note that my chronic headaches – chronic “hardly equipped at deftly allowing corporate horseshit endurable scrutiny” – are kicking in.

The only cure for chronic h.e.a.d.a.c.h.e.s. are disassociation with the corporate horseshit.

Quotes: None.
Sources: The Story’s Imaginarium, my personal experiences, and my professional experiences.
Inspirations: After we three called out sick from work, I thought about how to write it without violating any HIPAA regulations. It’s not like I’m saying their names. This is important to consider when writing your own 30-day novel. Can your health keep up the same pace as your fingers? If it hadn’t been for that corporate bullshit, I think, yes, my health could have kept up.
Related: Other 2019 Novel writings and other Sober Living essays.
Picture: When you’re feeling sick, the last thing you care about is something no one will really think about in your field. I’m a writer. I care about the words not how the picture looks.
Written On: December 6th, 2019 [38 minutes, from 3:28am to 4:06am, in WordPress, while listening to brass by [theminibosses.]
Last Edited: December 6th, 2019 [Two minutes of advice from Grammarly. Some of its suggestions are wrong or stylistically outside my concerns.]
My big goal is writing. My most important goal is writing "The Story." All other goals should work toward that central goal. My proudest moment is the most recent time I overcame some fear, which should have been today. I'm a better zombie than I was yesterday. I'm not better than you and you're not better than me. Let's strive to be better every day.