I’ve explained how I’ve engaged myself in a career of self-diagnosis; however, you may fail to recognize that my passion for diagnosis often spills onto unsuspecting friends, family, and at times the unwitting mall shopper. Although this is an unpaid career, it is not unprofessional.
I do not divulge patients names, symptoms, or their official diagnosis…except maybe in a blog or two, but it’s not like I broadcast it on the 6 o’clock news or anything. My secretary is a little behind in her paperwork and has not gotten to the patient’s bill of rights yet.
It is not with ambivalence that I diagnose, for you see, I genuinely care for my patients. Can I call them patients? Perhaps “victim” would be appropriate terminology.
Tonight I watched Winnie The Pooh’s Christmas and consequently come to you enlightened, vilified, and with yet another diagnosis. This diagnosis is not inflicted on self…not this time. This particular diagnosis is reserved for another whose name will remain unmentioned (for the season anyway…it is after all Christmas).
Patients or victims with this syndrome often present with high levels of negativity, a distinct absence of enthusiasm, and an unwillingness to attempt engaging in life if anything more than survival breaths are required. These individuals usually rain on my parade. Please excuse the colloquialism. Often they zap every last ounce of energy from my being, leaving me sweaty and limp like a strand of forgotten spaghetti boiled to obliteration.
You see when I enter the presence of people wearing this syndrome like a cloak of gloom, I overcompensate for them. This in itself is probably evidence of yet another personal disorder, but I’ll save that self-diagnosis for another time and another episode of Winnie The Pooh.
Today I am officially labeling those with the above stated symptoms as officially having Eeyore Syndrome. After much “hullabaloo”, to use Pooh’s own word, Eeyore received an umbrella for Christmas. Side note: getting an umbrella is further evidence of this syndromes since he’s usually expecting that rain…even on non-parade days. As Eeyore opened his umbrella he murmured, “And it even works.”
Put me on record saying that Eeyore, in all his pathetic bleakness, played a vital role in Pooh’s community. I’m in no way discrediting his ever important place in life. Without the Eeyore’s of this world, the Tiggers may bounce uncontrollably swirling the entire world into a giant funnel cloud of fun. We wouldn’t want that to happen – too dangerous, too tiring, too risky, too blustery.
I merely bask in the knowledge that I’ve discovered a name for this syndrome. I think Pooh has helped me understand this world a little better and I am forever grateful.