Mike Villar: Now Healthy as a battleship!

Okay, so I think I might’ve suffered a mild stroke early last week and because I think, that after the terrible bouts of depression and intense episodes of panic attacks I went through almost two years ago, I developed some form of hypochondria or cyberchondria, I’ve been seeing my doctor a lot lately.

When I learned that my doctor was opening up a clinic in a nearby teaching hospital, I almost felt compelled to rent an apartment in the area just so I can assuage all my fears and I can easily be transported to the emergency room in case anything does happen to me (I don’t know–Poisoned because I tried to mix Lysol with my Gran Matador? Choked because I tried to cram a deck of cards down my throat on a drunken dare? Whatever.)

Now, besides the fact that my doctor is the best cardiologist in the country, I particularly like seeing my doctor because his medical directorship in the teaching hospital I go to means that he has a corps of hot female residents sitting in with him while he does clinic.

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Shoulder Hurt. Banana Boat: No friend to fat people

Okay so I’m back in Manila after a company outing in Subic right? Well guess what I realized? I realized that my left shoulder, which always had this chronic pain going on after a sports accident in 2001 (Youth For Christ Sports Fest. Me. On the sidelines. Eating free Tuna Sandwiches provided by the organizers. Heckling. a 6′4″ guy crashing into me, pinning my left shoulder with his knee in the process. A lot of tears. A lot of swearing), is hurting more than usual.

Now, I am not new to this kind of pain because I’m probably the biggest klutz this side of Asia and because I have been overweight for as far back as I can remember–in fact, there was this time a couple of years ago when I injured my ankle trundling around the University of the Philippines’ academic oval in a feeble attempt to “jog.” Apparently, my fat body (I was around 15 pounds heavier than I am now then) wasn’t used to physical activity that intense and the sheer weight of my body coupled with the awkward lumbering I tried to pass off as “jogging” were enough to strain my calcium-deprived ankles to actually dislocate it.

The thing is, today, I want to think that my bones are stronger from all the dieting I’m doing and from all the calcium I ingest from my diet food (ice cream, cheese in pizza, the almonds in my M&M’s, fiber from the Pizza box, Semen, etc.). However, on the contrary, it seems as if my bones have gone brittler and weaker and the littlest of physical activities–like bending down to plug my cell phone’s charger to a socket under my table somehow injure me.

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Diet update. And fuck.

Reason #3 why my girlfriend, my parents or pretty much anyone who has to deal with me on a daily basis isn’t very fond of me; aka From the Mike Villar is never going to be successful at anything and probably die young file.

Before I go any further, let me just say that last night was probably one of the toughest nights I’ve had sleeping-wise. See, I crashed right after I drove home from a mini date with the girlfriend and an entire work day of trying to take in whatever it was the trainer from my company’s leadership development program was saying while sneaking in work at the same time. Doing that shit really tires the fuck out of you.

So yeah, I crashed around 12mn, woke up around 3am and couldn’t get myself to fall back asleep thanks largely to the mild anti-depressant I use to self-medicate and treat my severe anxiety with. Right around 6am, I thought to myself “Why don’t you quit dicking around, jack off, take a shower and treat yourself to a nice big meal before getting ready for work?”

But, like most of my plans in life, the entire thing fell apart mere minutes after I thought about it. After taking a shower, I sort of fell asleep on the couch, wet towel draped around my waist and all. Not that this is a bad thing since I only had 3 hours of sleep tops anyway. At this point, I was sort of playing with the idea of ditching work for the day and just catch up on sleep. But before I can come up with a decision, my next door neighbors started revving their retarded motorcycles to start their work day.

Why the fuck not right?

Why not have God screw me over on a morning where I am about to go into the deepest sleep I’ve had in a long time like I wasn’t so sleep deprived already so I can force myself to go to work to sit around dejected as fuck inside my cubicle while wondering if I’ll ever get to have sex again without shelling out thousands of pesos for it?

And because of the severe sleep deprivation that’s been bugging me a lot lately, I, and tell me if this is weird, compensated by going overboard with my food, something which totally derailed my diet.

Just to give you an idea:

Breakfast

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My Diet

I know dieting is so not me, but ever since I had some sort of heart attack scare several days ago, I got to thinking more about it and now, I could name a million and one reasons why I really should go on a diet.

Off the top of my head, I should go on a diet because I think, somewhere down the cruel road of depression, panic attacks and agoraphobia I took, I developed hypochondria and I am perpetually thinking about how I could just drop dead any second. Another reason, and I think this is the reason most obese 26 year-olds have for even thinking of going on a diet, is that aside from my girlfriend, I feel like no member of the opposite sex ever finds me attractive anymore.

Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t want to lose weight so I could effectively cheat on my girlfriend but rather because I want to be seen by members of the opposite sex with the same amount of lust I feel when I look at women from Fashion TV. Also, it would be great if I could convince my girlfriend to make sweet love to me again. I mean, really, I only have vague, splintery memories of how sex feels like and from what I remember, it is rather pleasant and it’s something I wouldn’t mind having again. Please.

I’ve given this a lot of thought lately and I kinda figured out how I came to be the beach whale that I am. First of all, my family, especially on the father side, have a tendency to either be hypertensive, or really fucking fat. For the benefit of my readers who failed to graduate high school, this is what us learned people call “genetics.”

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Guess what, I think I suffered a mild stroke las–HOLY SHIT THAT GUY WAS SHOT IN THE THROAT!

Yesterday was one of those days I had to render 14 hours to accommodate a client call I had to make. Naturally, because of the extended work hours I had to render, I was famished by the time the clock hit ten o’clock. Of course, I did what any normal, 26 year-old, overweight, highly-stressed yuppie would do–and that is order Pizza from PizzaHut, making sure there’s at least 5 tablespoons of salt in every slice and consume no less than eight slices before turning to drink what could’ve been at least 700ml’s of Pepsi.

Now, because I am perpetually in a state somnolence, I never thought any of the fact that I was literally falling asleep behind the wheel of my car on my way home from work last night. I mean seriously, this shit happens to me almost everyday. It was only after all the dizziness and blurred vision manifested that my panic level went up a notch.

After a long crawl through Commonwealth avenue, I came to the realization that I have lost most of the critical faculties that allow me to drive and think straight. For some strange reason, however, I could hear voices in my head saying shit like “If you land this plane, we will trade fuel for hostages“ ala Gary Oldman in Airforce one. (Also, I’d like it to go on record that Harrison Ford who co-starred with Gary Oldman in Airforce one is a sexy son of a bitch whose balls I wouldn’t mind touching my lips. I’d also like it to go on record that this comes from a man that has an untarnished record of heterosexuality. Except for a couple of times I “experimented” out of curiosity during that phase in my life when I didn’t believe that “S’ing” another man’s “D” makes one gay. It does. At least I know now.)

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