The Monkey On My Back Dances, Continued

Part 1 of my gripping “I Suffer From Anxiety” series.

And Part II.


So in my endeavor to better understand my anxiety and hopefully find ways to cope with it, I recently visited a kinesthesiologist. I’d heard great things about this guy from a vegan/Zen/meditative/very non-anxious friend of The Rocks’ who’d been going to this particular doctor for 16 years.


I don’t know why I chose a kinesthesiologist, other than it sounded different, and I wanted an alternative take on what I’d suffered from for years. I also considered a naturopath, an endocrinologist and a neurologist, and for some reason, a kinesthesiologist won out. I’m just so me that way.


I’m pretty sure the guy wondered why I was there, too. He seemed surprised and a little put out when scanning my intake form, where I’d listed every symptom anyone could ever suffer anywhere, anytime, for any reason. On the sheet, a human body diagram prompted me to mark my areas of concern, and I left no bone, muscle or skin flap unturned.


He eventually looked up. “What would you like me to address first?”


I thought he sounded annoyed, a tone I am not unacquainted with.
I ignored it and told him about that electrical feeling I’d been having, since that was the most distressing.


He looked at me as if I were crazy. Which also happens to me often.


Then: “What do you eat?


One of the things I’d had to do before seeing the doctor was list for him every thing I’ve eaten for the past several days. And as six months ago, I radically changed my diet (no white flour, no white sugar, no processed foods of any kind, little to no caffeine), he probably thought I was lying to make myself sound good. I’d actually changed my eating habits because I thought it’d alleviate the electrical/hyper physical anxiety sensations (maybe sugar made me crazy? I wanted to think so. But nothing much changed. Other than I felt more clear-headed and energetic. So that was nice.)


I reiterated what I’d written on the form. Whole wheat pitas, oatmeal, buckwheat pancakes, sauteed veggies, blah blah blah.


You don’t eat enough meat. You have a B12 deficiency.


Well, that’d be good, I thought. A few B12 supplements and I’d be fixed right up. No more anxiety! I’d forget all my troubles and my serotonin re-uptake inhibitors would be less inhibited!


He paused, “But let’s check you out.”


So I put my hand on my heart as he tugged on my arm, and I put my other arm on my forehead as he pulled on my leg. This went on for awhile. Periodically, he would ask my body to tell him what the problem was, “Are you allergic to something?” My arm told him “yes.” “Allergic to wine?” (please no, no no noooooooooooo). My leg told him “no.”


So eventually it’s deduced that I am allergic to Starbucks (which I didn’t really drink anymore). According to the doctor, their double roasting process of making coffee creates toxins that weaken your body.


If only it were that easy! I’d stop not drinking the stuff.


There had to be something more.


…To Be Continued


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One Response to “The Monkey On My Back Dances, Continued”

  1. […] To Be Continued « « Momma Love    |    Sweet Like Sugar » » […]

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