I try to not let my illnesses take over my life. In fact, I try very hard to not let them define me as a person. I am all for the ‘being the person before the illness’ rhetoric, and if anyone else describes me solely by that ‘defining’ feature, they often get a long and very grumpy lecture on my other wonderful and much more worthy characteristics. On a personal level however, sometimes I succeed and other times I don’t, often coming out with the phrases ‘I have Crohns‘ or ‘I’m a depressive’ as an answer to seemingly anything. I often regret this mental narrative as it usually feels like I’ve given in to my illness, and subsequently let it take over.
However, this last year has been an experience in acceptance. I have realised that sometimes, you must be that person who stands and says ‘no, actually, I can’t do that because I have this‘. It’s not easy, but let me tell you the story of how I came to learn. Continue reading
We fell in love in a spectacular way. We fell in love in a way that is the epitome of us. A memory we can share together, and know that it was only a way that we could meet. It wasn’t angels and trumpets, but just a sense of coming home, of comfort and content.
We all have our ticks and our dreams and our lives: everyone develops in such a complicated way, that no one is complicated. We are all simple once you begin to learn, and you learnt like a professional.
You know exactly how I pick apart my food to make it last longer. You know how loud I snore. You’ve heard me sing out of tune on late night drives so I stay awake. You don’t hesitate to swap our foods around, and you always give me a bite of your pizza (even when I said I didn’t want any). You know of my unhealthy obsession with certain TV/book characters, my many unfinished series, and the fact that I refuse to buy anything in the middle of a collection (I have to have it all).
You know the reason I always put my bed in the corner against the wall. You pull me closer when I tug on your sleeve in crowded areas. You know the exact colour of my eyes when I’ve been crying, and you know just how to make me breathe. You’ve learnt the way I whimper when I have nightmares, and you aren’t afraid of the dark thoughts that sometimes come tumbling out. Continue reading
I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome about 9 months ago. Officially. Funnily enough, an ultrasound nurse told me this when I was 14, and yet my doctors at the time disregarded this and basically told me to come back when I wanted to have children. It all started when I was 12. I went through puberty even though I was told that my Crohns may interfere. I had my first period (bloody hell literally) and I remember being super excited (even though I was in stupid pain). I remember getting the obligatory joke(?) text from my friend saying ‘WOOHOO you’re officially a woman!’, and I remember being somewhat proud of the whole debacle. I wasn’t worried when I didn’t have one the next month, or the month after that, because it’s often stressed to you that you’re never regular at the beginning.
Two years later I admitted to my mum that I hadn’t had a period since. I asked if it was normal. She booked me an appointment at the GPs. We went together and explained what had happened and they originally told me that some people don’t start to late. I didn’t pique their interest until I told them I had started two years ago, and just never…carried on. Continue reading
Sometimes I’m like a bath that has been left just that little too long. Not hot enough to burn, not cold enough to not bother, just lukewarm enough to be slightly uncomfortable and confusing.
Do I stay in? Do I get out? Am I enjoying this? Am I not? Most the time you either accept this weird temperature, or you actually try to do something about it; whether that’s getting out, or turning on the hot water tap and waiting for the bath to warm up.
Well sometimes, I’m that lukewarm bath. Sometimes, I don’t feel anything at either end of the spectrum, I’m just…where I am. I’m not happy, proud, excited, joyous, content. I’m also not angry, sad, upset, or annoyed. I’m not really anything, I’m just sitting in a very weird in between. Continue reading
I’ve come to realise that underneath everything, I am a very angry and irritable person. I’m quick to fire up and very slow to burn out. I’m a seether, a grudger, a hater of all things. Would you have guessed?
One of my friends once told me that when I get angry she knows it’s real, she knows that something must have really pissed me off, because according to her, I don’t get angry. But I’ve mentioned it before that I would rather hold it inside me than let anything come out, and that I would rather suffer than anybody else. Unfortunately for me, I think that just makes me an even angrier person. It has no where to go, so it grows and shrinks, grows and shrinks, and then just fucks up everything. Continue reading
Who really knows.
I’m not one of those people who likes conflict. I hate it. It drives me mad. It stresses me out. If anything, conflict is one of the biggest triggers to me tumbling into a downwards spiral. I’ve always been one of those people who would rather sit down, talk, and find a compromise, than get into a full blown argument with someone. To me, that’s always been the better option.
I’m not going to say it’s healthy. In the long run, it’s probably quite the opposite. I’d rather not show anyone just exactly how they’ve hurt me, or how angry I am, so it just ends up bottled. It grows and grows, and eventually explodes, or at least, implodes, into something not good at all. I’m an internal combustor, a nuclear bomb that only collapses inwards rather than shatters outwards. Continue reading
I have flare ups reasonably regularly, but from the outside you can’t really tell. Unless you’re privy to my bathroom routine, have super hearing for the grumblings of my stomach, and document how much I have eaten that day, then from the outside I don’t look ill. And that’s why my illness is invisible. There are many invisible illnesses out there, and it basically means you cannot tell someone has a disease or disorder just by looking at them; they could look entirely ‘normal’ and healthy externally, but internally, their body and/or mind is waging war on itself. Internally, they may be very sick indeed. My illnesses are not obvious to those around me, and so it can make certain situations sometimes difficult to deal with.
Food can sometimes make me feel awkward.
Like a normal person, I have to eat things. Unlike a normal person, I have IBD. Continue reading