It’s shocking how rampant hypochondria is in this country. It’s so widespread you would think one of the pharmaceutical companies would develop a pill to treat it. Just imagine the commercial campaign:
“Do you suffer from feelings of feeling ill or injured? Are you unable to sit through an evening of television viewing without relating to and developing every single symptom presented on the forty-three drug commercials you will see throughout the evening? Talk to your doctor about Urnotcrazy for the treatment of mild to moderate hypochondria. Urnotcrazy is not for everyone, especially if you suffer from feelings of pregnancy, high blood pressure, heart disease, stroke, boredom, lethargy, or stupidity. Side effects may occur, including development of actual symptoms of actual diseases.”

Hopefully it will never come to that, but we have started to throw around medical terms without any basis. Of course, we’ve had school children who toss the word “retarded” into everyday conversation to indicate that something is stupid, as in, that shirt is so retarded. “Lame” has been used in much the same way. I never realized it was a problem that your shirt was unable to walk.

But now adults have dragged the medical dictionary into their outlooks on life. I’m more than tired of hearing fully developed adults claim that they are “a little bit depressed today.” Really? Overnight and without warning, you developed a chemical imbalance that is preventing the synapses in your brain from doing their thing? Holy crap!

Now, college-educated people will forget to bring their grocery lists with them to the store and whine, “It’s just my A.D.D. acting up.” Maybe this is why we’ve started building walk-in medical clinics in strip malls, just to encourage these quick-and-easy diagnoses that everyone seems to have.

My favorite, though, has to be the fully-grown and supposedly capable adult I met for a work event. Her bio information clearly stated that she has Asperger’s syndrome. It also states that her ex-husband, her current boyfriend, and her son all have Asperger’s as well. First, let me tell you, if you ever go visit her house DO NOT DRINK THE WATER. There’s something wrong with the well at her house if that many people come to the property and end up with Asperger’s. Maybe Stephen King can write a book about this lady, where she opens up a bed-and-breakfast with the sole intent on genetically altering people with the lemonade.

I met the woman, got one question out of my mouth, and met the real crux of the problem with her diagnosis. Not only had she self-diagnosed, she was also sadly mistaken in her official diagnosis, which even the best of doctors can do when dealing with an inexact science like psychiatry. This woman didn’t have Asperger’s, she was just a bitch. Pure and simple, she’s just a hateful, thoughtless spewing person with absolutely no filter on her mouth. That’ll be $630 for my services. You’re welcome.

I’ve therefore decided if everyone else can lay claim to sundry ailments without any kind of rational basis whatsoever, I am now afflicted with M.A.D., or Multi-Attentive Disorder. Yeah, I totally just made that up. The serious diagnosis of M.A.D. means that I’ve become so conditioned in this environment we live in that if I don’t have two televisions going, my cell phone ringing, a pot boiling over on the stove, and three kids talking to me (which is really weird because I only have two kids), I can’t concentrate on anything. You can’t know the pain I endure of sitting on my porch overlooking my serene back yard in the early morning, hearing only the birds chirp while I drink coffee; it’s brutal. I can’t concentrate on anything that I have to do when I’m sitting there in the quiet. It’s gotten so bad that when I lie in bed in the dark at nine pm, I immediately fall asleep. I can’t even stay awake long enough to focus on my to-do list for the next day. Fortunately, I’ve sought help for this and scientists are creating a pill as we speak.