Psycho-Somatic Sam

 

Sam was a part time anthropology major, part time hypochondriac, a diagnosis his doctor apparently overlooked. Sam was an astute reader of Native American folklore and mythology. He especially felt partial to the stories of the Wendigo. The Wendigo was a man-beast like forest creature that hunted and ate human flesh. The folklore says that the creature is never sighted with human eyes until tactual contact is made with the beast. The stories that circulated around this creature were that if sought and looked for, its presence could never be obtained. The creature would utilize the camouflage of the forest. But when man was at the deepest summit of his fears and uncertainties, the Wendigo revealed itself.

 

 

Sam opened the medicine cabinet revealing 15 prescription bottles. First he took the red pill, then the blue, yellow, orange and green, exactly in that order. This morning was particularly cumbersome because he had a head cold and he only got three hours of sleep. The night before he had indulged himself in his studies, catching up on summer course work. He went for a swim hoping he would feel better. Afterwards he only felt lethargic and dizzy like a wayward spin top. His stomach churned as if it were swallowing itself. His temples pulsed like control signals evaporating into the heart of the sun. The sun, for that matter, blazed a plasmic radiation against the beatings of his heart. His heartbeats danced the waltz.

 

Sam lived inside his head a lot, a very dangerous neighborhood indeed. He would often confuse one symptom for another. When beads of perspiration streamed down his face and his heart thumped like a rabbit, he didn't know if he was experiencing low blood sugar (hypoglycemia), anxiety or a heart attack. He felt like he could throw-up at anytime. Sometimes his lethargic spells indicated a need for food, but he wasn't hungry. He could not clearly identify what his symptoms were. They all conglomerated into a huge indecipherable mass, clinging to his brain like a tumor.

 

After one of these multi-symptomatic events, Sam drifted into sleep and dreamed. Telletubbies pursued his tracks. As they combed for his footsteps, they mumbled some gibberish. They kept saying “Going up. Coming down. Going up, Coming down.”

 

Sam awoke with the television blaring loudly. Some disturbing images from CNN blanketed his mind. They were offering a vigil for the US soldiers in Iraq. Images of decapitation flashed in subliminal rapid succession.

 

The phone rang in a mocking tone. It was his ex-girlfriend sharing the news of her new would-be marriage. Sam thought it possible that he had a tapeworm in his stomach or that aliens visited him overnight and implanted some kind of specimen in his bowels. At least that’s what it felt like when he was talking to her.

 

His body told him he needed some food. But he wasn’t hungry. Anxiety clouded his brain. His rasping breath foreboded the impending doom of death.

 

 

 

Sam coined the term Symptomosis, which asserts that there are articulation problems when we attempt to concisely convey our symptoms to psychiatrists and psychologists. It is that psychological scapegoat of finding something wrong. It encompasses a highly sensitive awareness to your own body. The term also encompasses a holistic view of the subjects’ environment at large and how that environment can elicit certain psycho-somatic reactions within the person. Nature and nurture coexist in this philosophy. You cannot have one without the other. Most importantly it denies any successful attempts of systematic diagnosis. Modern Psychology, in Sam’s view, is too simplistic. However, if you were to receive a definite diagnosis, which is highly improbable, than the symptoms usurp a stronger hand in replicating other adverse reactions in the person. In other words, affirming a diagnosis grants vitality to something that is not really there. Mental symptoms, in Sam’s view, only exist in non-reality whereby labeling them as such posits an improbability as a probability.

 

Overall, his theories totally f*****g confused him even more. His theory of Symptomosis was not readily available to him; it lay submerged in the watery confines of his unconscious. Otherwise, if it were readily available he would not be so confused. Visits to Dr. Adler were useless. As a patient Sam was only considered neurotic. He has never attempted suicide or homicide, never experienced hallucinations or manic states. Yet he thought something was profoundly wrong with him. When the opportune time presented itself in Dr. Adler’s office, Sam could not communicate how unique his condition was. Thwarted by the elusiveness of his psycho-somatic mind, thread by thread he felt entangled in the web of uncertainties. Only when he was immersed in bedtime morning riddles would the immanent monster present itself, but it would never transubstantiate in Dr. Adler’s office. Ironically, he felt like a normal citizen in Dr. Adler’s office.

 

“I forgot. How many milligrams did I prescribe? We made adjustments when we met last correct?” 

 

“Yes. Uhm. I cut down on the Zoloft by 50 milligrams. And I am only taking 25 of the Limitil.”

 

“So how are you adjusting to the medication now?”

 

 “Okay I guess. No more stomach cramps and tremors.”

 

“Are your symptoms more manageable?”

 

“yeah… somewhat.”

 

“What do you mean? I mean is your anxiety and depression not as intrusive?”

 

“Yes and no. I mean… it is like… you know camouflaged. It’s like when it is not so apparent that I am anxious and depressed, I am. But when I turn to look, it is gone. It is like I am being carried by some elusive invisible presence.”

 

“Okay. But you’re not experiencing any hallucinations or manic states are you?”

 

“No.”

 

“No voices?”

 

“No.”

 

Contemplating, the doctor placed a thumb to his chin. “Hmm? Well it seems like nothing profound. How do you feel at home?”

 

“Okay. I just feel distracted sometimes. My ex is getting married.”

 

“Well it seems like you are going though some changes we all go through.”

 

Sam nodded. The telletubby dream had totally escaped him. He could not remember.

 

“I just feel lethargic sometimes.”

 

“Are you sleeping okay? Do you sleep a lot?”

 

“No. I have my regular eight hours just like everybody else.”

 

“But you don’t sleep to avoid responsibilities?”

 

“No.” He was never really good at Q&A. Plus it made his symptoms seem complacent.

 

“Okay. Continue taking the dosage I prescribed. If you need me. Just call. Okay. I don’t provide talk therapy so keep that in mind. I can only subscribe medicine. I suggest a therapist.”

 

 

 

Sam had many wayward attempts with therapists, so he never bothered. Talking about his problems with a therapist was like playing ping pong without the initial serve. The communication process always stifled in medias res. And he would leave not knowing what to think. He left frustrated enough from the psychiatrist visits, never coming to a substantial agreement on what meds were appropriate. He couldn’t tell if the medication was working or not. For all he knew it was a placebo effect. Sam hoped that the doctor would have prescribed some medication that uniquely addressed Sam’s problems. He pictured an orange Walgreens bottle, the label reading “Anti-Sam inflammatory.”

 

After the doctor visit, Sam needed a nap. His mind rang like chimes. Knees buckled and his head feeling like an anvil, he docked straight for bed.

 

Eyelids heavy, oscillating up and down like worn window shades, Sam slowly awoke. With his bodyweight doubled and a foggy swamped mind, his dreams kept calling him back to slumber. 

 

Although his feet hit the carpet, he was not quite convinced he was awake. His room seemed transient, a dying last impression, his anxiety, on the other hand, lasting. Some other engrossing reality harbored the real truth behind his symptoms, at least he thought. The so called symptoms were minor infractions of his mind. The neurological messages in his brain deviated from the usual net pathways. He thought about his failed interpersonal relationships with his ex, his failed articulation about himself to his doctor, the weird dreams, the Iraq war, Telletubbies, bizarre commercials. One symptom after another conveyed the next possible diagnosis in an ill-fated world. Maybe, he thought, he did not wear the right shoe size, the walls painted the wrong color. Maybe it was his diet; after all he was hypoglycemic.

 

“Maybe when I am anxious, I am just hungry. Or maybe the other way around.”

“I think I am just confused.”

 

He fell back onto his bed. Symptomosis had left him starved and depraved in finding the origins of his maladies. The lighted candle on his bedside table formed a weary oblique shadow. Behind the camouflage of his tiered world, the immanent monster lay in waiting. It, that ineffable it, silhouetted and danced with the flickering flame of the candle. Picturesque visions of natives danced around in his head as the tribe commenced their ritual of exorcism. Encircling the dark hearth, the tribe costumed in mocking animal skins of the spirit world began to motion in frenzy.

 

Before Sam fell into a fitful sleep, he whispered with a windy desperation, “Wendigo!”

 

 

Reviews

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

Lionel, i got goosebumps reading this ,,, i have felt this way and the same for me and a therapists ,, ij ust noticed the word 'rapists' is in therapists , so is pist lol .. oh, sorry ..
The story is enjoyable .. nice reading , good descriptions and the elusive Wendigo .. i like that word,
i can picture the creature in my mind .. very good writing and love the title too ..

Chloe
xoxo

[Jenny Davis]

Oh gosh! Dare I say this is very relatable...the way you put this was complex yet so easy to understand. Poor Sam, damn doctors and their drugs...sometimes I think they don't know their butt from their elbow..
This was an interesting portrayal of ANXIETY....thank you for the ride :)

[Blackbirdsong]

It's good to see Sam back again. I have missed him. I think this was one of the first pieces of yours that I read months ago and as you can see I'm still here reading your work. I like the way you describe this person and take us into his experience and let us see the world from his point of view. It would be easy to just say hypochondriac and use a lot of overused cliches about people like this, but you don't which is part of what makes this such an interesting read.