I Always Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me
I don't know if they are, but it feels like it. When I'm walking. When I'm trying to sit still. Especially when I'm eating. I feel that everyone in the room sees me dropping food on myself. Spilling the spaghetti. Dropping my Coke. French fries on the floor. Things of that nature.
You could say I'm paranoid. You could say that I'm seeing things that aren't really there. But it's how I feel. Because it wasn't always like this. I've always been a thoroughly forgettable dude. Tall, but not unusually so. Unattractive, but in a nondescript way.
But now, thanks to #ThePark, I think I stand out more. I shake. I clomp around like a Frankenstein. I wasn't big into going out to eat before, but now I rarely ever go out. Even when I travel, I've started getting takeout more often than sitting in a restaurant.
I feel awkward in public, more so than when I was just a weird goon looming in the background. But now, I can't just joke and say, oh, I'm just a weird, dude. I'm just a goofy goon. Now, feel I have to explain myself.
There are times when I wish I had a little card that I could hand out or a sign that I could place next to my table at a restaurant that explains that I have Parkinson's and that is why I'm spilling food all over myself. It's not because I am a baby. I'm a grown ass man. With a shitty disease.
Again, I am not a baby. Yes, I am messy, sloppy, and covered in spaghetti sauce. But I am NOT a baby.
When I am covered in sauce, or when my hand shakes so much I can't read the poem I'm holding, or when my phone starts buzzing to remind me to take my meds, I feel obligated to explain what's happening, that if I don't explain things, all people will see is me shaking or spilling or clomping around without swinging my arms.
Whenever I explain my situation, people are usually surprised. My dad didn't even believe me when I first got diagnosed. Parkinson's associated as an old person's disease and I'm not old enough. Most of the time it’s only my right hand that shakes. I don't fall down. I very rarely stumble, although I did trip over a cord today.
It confuses people. Because I'm not your typical Parkinson's patient in their eyes. I feel weird explaining the complexity of the disease because I'm not a real doctor and I know I come across as pedantic.
I don't know how much detail to go into. Do I tell them it's a dopamine deficiency and that my drugs encourage compulsive behavior, so I spend too much time online shopping? That I don't want to go to Vegas anymore because I'm afraid I'd lose my house on a video poker machine in the high limits room at the Park MGM?
Do I tell them about the other weird symptoms? That sometimes I talk in my sleep. That I wake up screaming and kicking. That I don't poop every day anymore. Is that weird? Can I get into a discussion about how often people poop and how my poop cycle has changed now that I have Parkinson's? I think that would be weird. But it's a serious issue because sometimes I don't poop and then I poop a lot.
I don't know if I should tell them how difficult it can be for me to do certain things. I don't like to wear a tie anymore because it's tough for me to tie a tie in the morning before my meds have kicked in. Putting on socks is just a pain. Like who invented socks? It's too hard. Why can't they be more simple? Why are they so tight? I even got a little device that is supposed to help me pull my socks on, but I can't figure out how to use the thing. It's too complicated. I think I put the sock on it and then I slide my foot through it or something like that. I don't know. It confounds me. So I buy certain sock brands because I know that they're easier to get on. Polo socks are nice. Versace socks are garbage. If you're reading this, Versace: make better socks. Your socks are trash. I hate them. But I'll still wear them when I want to look extra bougie.
It's tough not knowing how much detail to go into. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. I don't want to sound like I'm asking people to pity me. Because in fact, I want the exact opposite, I just want them to understand what's going on. But not to have to say, oh let me help you with that. Or do you need help with this?
I don't need help carrying my plate. I might almost drop it, but I generally don't drop it. I just almost drop it. I can still move boxes. I can still lift tables. I can still move furniture and do all the stuff that I became good at when I toiled at the mall or as the elementary school trash man. I can still do most things. I just don't like to eat spaghetti in restaurants. Because it gets all over me. And I don't want people looking at me, thinking I'm a baby. I'm not a baby. I'm a grown man.