Thanatophobia: Journal entry 2
May 13, 2025
I often worry that I’m not doing enough, or at times doing too much. That I spend so much time worrying about what other people want or need, or what I think they want or need. I worry that I don’t actually pay attention to what they want or need. I worry that I don’t have enough time, like there’s an expiration date I am only subconsciously aware of. One that I’m somehow intrinsically connected to or guided by beyond my need for control. I worry that I won’t be able to stop the end, to protect me and my husband, let alone my family that doesn’t live with me, if I’m not around.
I know that sometimes I will have to make decisions that put my husband and I first, me first, but I’m not sure I know how to do that. I feel like a river, or more like debris in a river. I am sharp, but resilient, but constantly surrounded by water that covers me.
I worry about my health, about how that might be what gets me. My hair is shedding more than usual. I see knew spots of scalp I had only ever seen when I’ve shaved my head in gay panic. I count them, clusters on my hands, roots that are dying, being washed away by more water that surrounds me.
“I counted over 180,” I say to my husband, overwhelmed but hushed, in such a rush that I didn’t bother to dry myself with a towel, leaving clear, glossy footsteps as I went.
“You’re counting?” He asks, surprised, but like he knows where I’m headed. He should know, he’s seen it before, or at least heard me talk about it before.
I used to count, I used to count the steps I took when walking anywhere, not to any specific number, just as high as any walk would let me. I used to count faces in a crowd. I count exists, I count articles of clothing, I count moles on my skin. I count my fingers with my thumb, both hands repeating the same motion. One - my pinky touching my thumb. Two - my thumb bouncing to my ring finger. Three, My middle finger and thumb. Four - My thumb and index finger. I take the sequence back to one. I go from four to three, from three to two, from two to one, then back to two, up to four, then repeat that sequence over and over again. I use both hands, it occupies my time. I do it over and over again. I count in the shower, I keep track of time, sometimes I give myself more time, so I count higher. Sometimes I count two minutes, or three, or five, just standing under the hot water before I can manage to shower (I’m usually very tired and being surrounded by water feels like a reward to me, like it charges me).
I think I have something with water, an odd relationship of sorts. I love to drink water too, sometimes obsessively. I’ve actually gotten water toxicity a couple times. I’ve only ever met one other person that has gone through the same things as me, and funny enough, her name was Bubbles. Rather odd, I think. Something I love so much, can kill me. It actually pretty much drowns you from the inside. It keeps your liver and kidneys running at all times, constantly flushing out toxins and overworking themselves. Drinking too much water can cause liver disease, kidney disease, migraines, high blood pressure, low blood pressure, and hyponatremia, a condition that is caused by diluting sodium in the bloodstream to levels so out of range that it causes nausea, vomiting, confusion, dizziness, and muscle weakness (if consumed to a substantial degree frequently, it can also cause muscle deterioration).
For the past 6 years I’ve worried I have Multiple Sclerosis, I’m currently in the process of getting a liver ultrasound for elevated GGT and AST levels, and I have to meet with a hematologist to see what’s causing strain on my body. I keep having a recurring shingles outbreak on my lower back. I’m only 31, I can’t get vaccinated for another 19 years.
I’m worried it’s always been the amount of water I drink.
