Ohhhhh boy do I wish… 106 lbs. That’s how much I weigh now. In April it was 116 and before that around 125 or so in December. Obviously, I was having an inner freak out in the nurse’s room; but, I knew I had to stop it or else I’ll have stupid stomach pains again.
I have two tests coming my way. Tomorrow’s the sonogram. Wednesday the horrid endoscopy. Just 24 hours ago I was so looking forward to Vegas. Now, I’m terrified to get on a plane with whatever fucked up conundrum is going on in my stomach.
For about a month, I’ve had to figure out what the fuck is going on. Slowly, I had to get rid of bothersome foods, ones that would make me want to curl up in a corner of the room. Alcohol and pot left immediately, which I had no problem saying good bye to. I’d been stoned for months straight. And alcohol… well, I’m over it. I’m not boring so I don’t need to be drunk to be interesting. Plus, someone has to keep all of the shameful secrets you alcoholic bitches spill.
Today, I finally broke down and cried by myself. A new friend asked me how I was feeling emotionally. He had stomach pains in the past and knows that it’s pretty tough because there’s not a single cure that can help. There might be a few food items or pills that might some, but for the rest they may experience bad reactions or nothing at all. For me, I’ve so far wasted money replacing healthy food that fucks me up with even more healthy food that will continue to fuck me up nonstop. And it’s wearing on my nerves.
He was the only person who asked me that. And that kinda hurt because everyone else has either said get better or eat more or change your diet (again) Like they fucking have an answer because they checked webmd or want to exercise their inner House… It’s just that because I’m skinny the first thing that comes up is my weight. And the solution seems like to eat or do this or do that but it isn’t that simple, mostly because I don’t know what the fuck is going on either and some of the shit I tried doesn’t work. Each time I think I have a clue it falls from my hands. So far I’ve had a couple of second glances from people who would watch me take no more than 10 bites out of a meal then push it away. It’s as if I either choose not to eat (because I obviously have an psychological eating disorder) or I have cancer (because that’s always the answer to health issues like these). There’s always this sad sinking feeling that surrounds me and I hate it. I fucking hate it because then the tone becomes What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me? And when you’re the sick person, it’s suffocating. I can’t go out and enjoy myself without seeing other people look at me with pity or empathy. I’m not fucking dead yet, bitches. Chill out! Probably why most of you won’t see me until I figure this out.
Also, don’t take it personally. Remember that I feel fucking terrible and I do keep my feelings to myself because I’m the only one who can keep myself calm. I was a Resident Assistant who had to stop girls from committing suicide and bring sick residents to the hospital in the middle of the night. Maybe I was a soldier in my former life but I know when there’s a traumatic or sucky situation, it just doesn’t help at the moment to become too emotional because that emotion will eventually turn into stress and that stress will have a very serious impact on my health. So I just can’t do that right now. Don’t expect me to. Writing is where I allow myself to cry and feel scared and let myself bleed a bit before patching myself up and tackling another day.
Not that I don’t want to share my sick feelings with anybody. I just feel like if I look at somebody and tell them how I feel, it’s like looking in a mirror where their expression reflects how I feel inside. And, it’s way too overwhelming. At least right now, while I’m actually going through these motions, on top of dealing with side effects and random stomach pains. I can deal with my emotional process; I can deal with the stomach pains and side effects. I can’t deal with looking at my mom or anyone else and seeing their eyebrows furrow with concern and looking at me like they know how to help. May sound bitchy but it’s the truth.
I feel like no one can help me except my doctors, and even they wonder how a healthy young woman suddenly has these stomach complications. What’s even more incredible is that despite my stomach problems, I can still walk run and continue to hold my head high as if nothing’s going on. I’m not surprised. I refuse to feel sick right now. I’ve tried almost every homemade remedy only to end up hospitalized. So all I have left to depend on is my attitude. If I choose to feel negative and careless, then my health will eventually worsen… if not now then years down the road. But, if I look in the mirror and I see me smiling, and if I tell myself everything will be okay (because I have no other choice), I feel hopeful but emotionally tired nonetheless.
EMOTIONAL EXHAUSTION is good. It means that I’m not ignoring my sickness or how I feel. I’m facing it head on and I’m so thankful that I have the strength to do that. I have no doubt in my mind that I’ll be 110% soon, though I’m sure I’ll retain my Skinny bitch body 
As Superhans would say, “I’m having a good fucking wallow.”
