Editor's note: This is The Dopamine Chronicles No. 2. Click here to read No. 1.
There’s a game we play with ourselves concerning health matters. If someone we love exhibits symptoms of a chronic or life-threatening illness, we are quick to insist that they see a medical professional at the earliest possible convenience. However, many of us, exhibiting those same signs of trouble, often take the same route of denial I opted for.
In the days and weeks and months that followed the viewing of the reunion video, I resumed the tedious business of living and lying, and I learned creative methods to disguise the odd bouts of quivering in my arm and hand. Shaking and quaking, I would come to call it. As a single parent of a teenaged son who depended upon me, I wasn't about to go out of my way to expose the fact that some unknown force was slowly taking control of my body, unnecessarily compromising my ability to provide for him. After all, it was probably nothing serious, I convinced myself; nothing worth fretting about. For a time, I considered the possibility that the issue might be simple anxiety. Maybe I just needed to relax.
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