November 29, 2021 Chapter 37
When the MRI results were in, the doctor called me down. “Looks good. Nothing to be concerned about. I’ll have you go to an ophthalmologist to find out what’s going on. You’re stressed a lot?” I wanted to say You think? Try living in your parents' basement with a turban and applesauce. I knew I was under more stress than I seemed able to handle. I had no idea what the next day would bring; I lived with constant anticipation of disaster. I feared that today my husband would realize I’d never be pious again and ignite a firestorm against me. Or my father would call with the news that he and the rabbi and my husband had teamed up against me. Or that today Chaya Ashkenazi would hear back that I was seen at Orange County Community College, and that she would instigate her rabbinic husband against me. Or that today I would lose my job. Or that today my emails would be hacked. Or that now, whatever I was typing, googling, and searching was recorded by a keylogger. I had heard about hidden cameras and about raids in people’s homes. I didn’t know what to expect. My anxiety about my health didn’t go away after that appointment either. I had discovered self diagnosis. I still had the symptoms, and I couldn’t get a doctor to name why. At night, at the office, or in the morning, I researched it myself. I found that if I looked deep into Google, I could find a prediction of my future of sorts, not a prophecy, but a worst case scenario. I drove myself crazy thinking about these scenarios, then thinking that I was crazy, and then about the terrible scenarios that could come from my mental instability. Over the course of one month I diagnosed myself with various debilitating diseases, each of which resulted in my swift loss of custody. What was worse, I was fully aware that the anxiety over my symptoms and health was only making me weaker, should a fight arise.