My Heart is a Thrill-seeker

My heart is a thrill-seeker.

I'm not -- I do things because I enjoy them, not because I'm not sure I'll survive them. I don't get a thrill from that razor edge of fear and exhilaration. I actively avoid the adrenaline-pumped frenzy of extreme danger and uncertainty, mostly due to my preference to have a sense of safety and/or control while indulging my sense of adventure.

My heart is a willful and stubborn beast, satisfied only with reckless abandon.

I mean, of course, that my endless chase for the endorphin rush of a runner's high is only satisfied when I've kept my heart rate at about 175 bpm for at least two minutes, which transforms me from a laser-focused workout machine to an awkward asthmatic llama, having been chased to the end of its ability by a pack of roid-raging coyotes. The rush of endorphins is worth it, though, even if I have to keep upping my resistance/incline/speed to make it happen.


It's been a rough couple of weeks. I moved out of the toxic environment I was in, and while I know it's a good thing overall, the guilt is real. One of my former roommates has some mental health issues and needs support, but it was becoming a full-time job that started affecting my real job in a big way. I was always stressed and unable to sleep, and was never sure what I was going to be walking into when I got home. For the past month and change, he's been telling me I need to move out and then changing his mind the next day. I was never sure if I needed to be looking for a backup place to live or if he was just working through some things.

My other roommate moves out in November, citing a need for a healthier environment.

That said, when do we make that call? In trying to be supportive and work with someone who's a lot more likely to be dismissed and marginalized in life due to mental illness, when do we draw the line to protect our own well-being? My (now former) roommate is in therapy and on medication and by all accounts was doing everything in his power to manage his illness, but the stress was such that I just couldn't take it anymore. In a matter of hours, he'd change his mind about something that, for me, was huge.

I don't have a satisfying answer. My usual fallback is the old "put your own oxygen mask on first" adage that airlines tell you in case of an emergency, but that doesn't settle this guilty weight. I feel like I let down someone who already has the deck stacked against him, even knowing that I could barely breathe for all the stress.