"When you were just a child
You were treated kind
But you were never brought up right."
- The Rolling Stones
I spend far too much time in my head worrying over this, waiting for something to come into focus. Ultimately, I truly believe there is very little to nothing that doctors can do for me. My body is going to finish this pretty much on it's own, eventually, just painfully. Yet, I can't stop hoping for help and understanding, preferably from a power-that-be type white coated individual. The chance for someone to find an objective test to demonstrate what I am going through is also very appealing. But then again, I have to communicate it eventually, or I will help no one in the future, which is the only goal I actually believe is attainable given my 40+ year old body is never going to become a fit, 20 year old body.
So, it should be clear that I am having trouble communicating what I believe is happening to me. My fear is that I keep using terms that not only have multiple meanings, doctors unable to "get" what I am saying, but that I am unaware of the meaning they hear as well. It would be as if I am saying potAto, them hearing potaato, both of us tone deaf to the difference (imagine Eliza Doolittle repeating her vowels, not realizing it is the sound, not the information, that is the issue, only Prof. Higgins does not realize that Eliza does not understand).
With that, I return to the aptly named 19th Nervous Breakdown lyrics (albeit a small portion of them). The above quote is what I always heard until one morning, stuck to the floor wiggling in back pain, listening to music in a poor attempt at pain avoidance. It was then that I heard:
"When you were just a child, you were treated fine, but never brought upright."
See the difference, physically made erect compared to properly reared.
So, it may be most accurate to describe my fear this way:
I walk into my doctor's office saying "I wasn't brought upright. I was brought upright." My doctor hears me claim "I wasn't brought up right. I wasn't brought up right."
Until either I figure out what they hear or they understand what I am saying, the communication breakdown will remain.
* * * * *
After that 19th Nervous Breakdown realization, I projected meanings upon the lyrics of so many songs it was ridiculous (recall the first post of this blog uses While My Guitar Gently Weeps). Over time, however, some became clear, like Weeps, to have been about something similar to what actually ails me. Of course, others do not, and it was probably not the best of ideas to use a song off of The White Album to try and explain to a doctor or psychologist that I was NOT insane.