It continues on…
I really thought I would be feeling a little bit better today but I’m not at all. Things feel worse, the headaches are more intense, my face feels like it’s straining under some throbbing pressure that travel all the way down the sides of my neck. I’m not sure if I’m going to pass out or break down. I attempted to get to my classes today but 20 minutes in to a meeting I was shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t see straight. The humiliation was horrible and the idea that I was seen as weak or not on top of everything felt like a huge blow to my ego. Here’s what I hate the most though…even if it is just bad reaction to the meds, or the beginnings of flu or something, there is always going to be the worry that it’s something more serious. It’s more than likely it isn’t, but when you get bombarded with all the messages on how much damage you are doing to your body you can’t help be concerned that those warnings are coming true. It’s like you can’t just be ill because sometimes that happens, it is because of something you did to damage yourself and now you are being punished for it.
I realise that I’m sounding a tad over-dramatic here but I can’t help it. For starters I’m really shit at being unwell and not knowing what my body is doing, and secondly because I see that I’ve built this life for myself and it has the potential to all come tumbling down. I am reminded of the months in the summer when I could not function because something unknown was making it impossible to move without the ground shifting beneath me and then I’m reminded even more of my first failed attempt at University.
I was just about to finish my first year and I was completely in love with what I was doing. I adored my classes and the people I was studying with had become good friends. It was probably up until that point the only time in my life that I felt like I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing, it felt right and there was a future starting to emerge. It didn’t matter that the rest of my life was in complete meltdown or that my mental health problems were out of control and it was irrelevant that I had to drink to sleep and numb the intensity of emotions, or take cocaine to be able to socialise and be happy outside of class. There was still hope at that point…Then one day I didn’t feel well and I had a pain in my stomach that ripped through me. I ended up in the hospital for 3 weeks that time, them trying to figure out what was wrong with me and me spaced out on morphine. There were no answers and when I got out it was only another week before I was back in. Backwards and forwards it continued, hours wasted in emergency departments, doctors who poked and prodded before sending me for more tests, more nights on wards that were filled with the cries of people gripped in illness. It was a horrible time with no conclusions. For the first few weeks there was still the potential to catch up and when those weeks turned into months I could still defer. 8 months passed and in the February I made the decision to drop out. It wasn’t just the physical health anymore that was crippling me, all those mental health issues I had been adamant about ignoring forced there way back to centre stage. It was game over after that. That was when my life stopped and the story of being trapped in the system began.
Over a year after the first physical symptoms started I ended up back in hospital again with the same symptoms. I was transferred from the psych ward to the medical ward (at a different hospital from the first one) the day before new year. I was taken into surgery with suspected appendicitis, they removed the appendix but that wasn’t the problem instead they found cysts on my ovaries. They were removed and deemed to be the likely reason for all the pain that I had been in and a few weeks later, after one more trip back to the hospital for a blood clot I was beginning to feel better. I didn’t go back into hospital after that for my stomach, the symptoms cleared up and I wasn’t hurting anymore. I’m not sure why it took so long for them to work it. All I know is that in the time that it did my world crumbled…I could not bear for that to happen again.
I like my life. I’m working hard at my recovery. I’m attempting to forgive my body. I am re-building. I have hope again and that in itself is unbelievably amazing. I want it to go right so much that the slightest indication that it couldn’t sends a panic rippling through me.
Right now I am hoping and praying and willing to plead and bargain for this to be over by tomorrow, that I will feel a little more human. So S=send me good thoughts please, they will very much be appreciated.