Obsession

...by Calvin Klein

Part of my high school years were accompanied by both the scent and the incessant advertising of Obsession cologne. I was a Drakkar Noir guy (yeah, yeah, I know) so wasn't as into the scent as a lot of my classmates were. It seemed that pretty much every dude fell into one of three camps:  Polo, Drakkar Noir and Obsession.

In hindsight, it's shocking I didn't gravitate toward the last of those. I mean, the ads were undeniably sexy, and sexy's important to an insecure lad of 14-18. At least on the level of making good grades, and more than likely far above it.

The other reason for why I should've moved in that direction is that obsessive behavior and me go way back. It doesn't seem to matter what I'm engaged in; if I'm truly engaged, I've probably gone over to the dark side for a least a moment or two or fifteen (or five-hundred).

It's actually a little bit more like this, TBH.

Almost every endeavor I've begun starts with some level of unhealthy absorption on my part. It's so much a part of my MO that I rarely notice it happening.

Those around me are another story. They feel it.

Usually right away.

I'm doing it now. Over the course of the past few days, It's gradually dawned on me (with some gentle and loving nudges from my wife) that I've started to check out.

I mentioned something along those lines in a previous post.

I think I know why I do it. It's a defense mechanism; something I picked up in childhood to deal with fear. When I'm afraid, I tend to get obsessive.

I'm scared right now.

There are a lot of fears that surface when I start to take a look. I'm afraid that I'm a terrible writer. So I obsess to try to make up the difference. Make it perfect, and no one can take issue.

I'm frightened that I'm pulling back the curtain too far, that you'll see who I really am on the inside and run screaming. Or maybe just sigh and shake your head. So when I put a new post out there, I start to obsess over the responses. Do you like me? Do you hate me? Do you think I'm out-of-my-gourd crazy?

I'm afraid of dying.

So I obsess over the minutiae of how to deal with cancer and chemotherapy. You got something for me to try? I'll probably give it a shot. Some weird idea pops into my head? I may just follow it. Right now I'm drinking three of these per day, getting ready for my next chemo appointment on Monday.

They aren't made for chemo. They're made for surgery. But I thought, "Hey, if it helps people to recover more quickly from surgery, maybe it'll help my body recover from chemo." The logic isn't maybe that far out there, and I checked with my oncology office before trying it. But you can probably see my point. I'll report back on how it goes, but honestly, they taste like vanilla-flavored @$$ and are expensive as hell.

Problem with all of this obsessive-compulsive behavior is that I'm not really there. Some precise mechanism has taken over, and what you're getting out there is a façade. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, folks.

When I'm present, I tend to be pretty kind, fairly gentle, and largely engaged. When I'm not, I start nitpicking just about everything. Usually that lens is pointed squarely at myself, and myopia is the biggest problem I face. But occasionally that magnifying glass gets turned outward, and then...

Watch out.

This obsession right now manifests itself in strange impulses. I should pay to promote my first blog post, really get the word out there.

Okaaaaaay.

Writing this blog has done some great things, at least one that was unexpected. It gives me an outlet for all of the fear and pain and shame and rage and ennui that's bouncing around in my skull. Navel-gazing? Sure! But navel-gazing with a purpose! It allows others who may be experiencing cancer to feel less alone.

Cancer is a lonely business, y'all.

The surprising part was that the blog helps alleviate an emotional burden on my end. Talking about my cancer, my diagnosis, my treatment, how I'm doing... it can be exhausting. I want to tell you. I really do. But it's sucking the will to live right out of me at times.

I can feel them sucking the juice right out of my eyeballs.
Suck, suck, suck, suck, suck!

Now all I have to do is say, "Do you really want to know? Do you have the emotional bandwidth for it? Yes? Well, here's a link to my blog. Go nuts."

The other, darker side to this is that it can feed my ego. Along with all of those fears and insecurities I mentioned earlier is a heaping helping of arrogance. That part of me is the least interesting country inside the continent of my soul, as far as I'm concerned. It's embarrassing when it pops out (and it does more often than I would like to admit), like an accidental nip-slip.

Look, alls I'm saying is... if it's not a thing for men, it shouldn't be a thing
for women, right? Free the nipple, or lock 'em all down.

That particular kind of navel-gazing is just icky, y'all. And I can't always tell when I'm slipping over to that darker side of the moon.

Maybe Pink Floyd'll let me know.

I have friends and loved ones I trust to tell me. That's a huge thing. Also, I try to listen, even when (especially when?) it's uncomfortable. That's also pretty big.

I'll have to trust that it's enough.

Or, you know, get the kitchen sparkling clean.
--------------------------------------

Next on the blog agenda--how to use your cancer diagnosis to get out of everything.


Next post.