I had the following conversation with a perpetually stressed out co-worker today.

STRESSED OUT CO-WORKER: I'm about to lose my mind. Fucking projects. (I've heard this tune many times.)
ME: (half jokingly) Out of curiosity, have you ever considered recreational drugs? It might help.
SOC: Yep. It might.
ME: >Were you mellow in high school? (I know she spent her entire high school years stoned.)
SOC: I don't remember.
M: (laughs)

I am so glad I'm not one of those stress kitties who thrive on stress. The Roommate has stress kitty tendencies, but she will deny it in a heartbeat.

Don't get me wrong, I have stress in my life. Who doesn't. There are times I freak out and have anxiety about shit, but over the years I've learn what stress does to me, not only mentally and emotionally, but also physically.

Many years ago, I was working myself to death. I was in the office long before the sun rose and left after it set. I lived on sugary sodas and nicotine. Sometimes I worked six days a week. I was so tired, not once but TWICE, I feel asleep on the phone while talking to a friend. The same friend both times. (I think she took it personally, because we aren't friends anymore.)

Then I started to get ill. I was having horrible buckling stomach pains. Then high fevers. The fevers were awful. I'd pass out on the sofa from them, burning up. I'd go to the doctor and they'd run the usually tests but everything came back normal. Blood tests, x-rays, a sonogram...and nothing. My doctor started to suspect I was making it up. Frustrated, he sent me to another doctor, a surgeon, to just get rid of me.

I met with the surgeon. He pressed on my stomach and asked me about what was going on. I told him about my work schedule and all I do. He diagnosed me with irritable bowel syndrome. He basically told me it is a condition with symptoms but no real cause for them. He gave me a prescription to help, but basically told me to rest and not work so much.

I took his advise. I took several days off and then schedule a vacation when I returned. I immediately stopped working overtime. When my boss called me at home about something, I told him the next day, I'd prefer not to bring work issues home with me and to only call me at home to discuss personal topics. (We were sort of friends at the time.) He didn't like that, but I didn't give a shit. I was determined to not experience that kind of pain again.

Now, my tummy is my barometer for stress. The second I start to feel it there, I back off instantly. Often times I have to remind myself a few times, to keep the tension at bay, but I usually can by living by asking myself a very simple question:

Is this worth me getting sick over?

The answer is always no. Sometimes the answer it HELL NO. Something out of my control? Oh well. Worries at work? Fuck it. It's just a paycheck. It's pretty easy to calm down about shit with those seven little words.

Matters of the heart are a bit different. When I am worried about a friend or loved one, I don't feel it in my stomach, but in my chest. It feels heavy and weighs on me. I think because that is where my heart is. (I understand the term heavy heart.)

I never want to be one of those people who are afraid to love. I love so many dear people. Wonderful friends. But when there is something wrong, I want to fix it. When I don't know how to fix it or diagnose what is wrong, I feel a very different kind but just a powerful physical manifestation. It's pretty frustrating. It's an awful feeling. But it is part of the package that love is.

In the documentary, What The #$&! Do We Know!?, there is a section of the movie that talking about a study a Japanese scientist did on consciousness and water. Basically, his researched showed that thoughts and feelings affect physical reality, including our personal health. It's a pretty amazing conclusion, but it's so very true. The mind, body and spirit are very intertwined. Fuck with one, the others suffer too.