physicalillness

My husband and I are separated but cohabiting because of the kids and because I need help due to my physical and mental health.
I have begun to fantasize that he will fall in love with someone who could become our kid’s bonus mom. I am a terrible failure in this area due to my physical and emotional limitations. They deserve so much more than me. This person would take care of them and love them unconditionally. And then I could disappear. #Depression #exhaustion #failure #physicalillness #MentalIllness

This is an original poem I’ve written.
Note that I am safe. Writing these thoughts out helps to keep me safe. I tried to share this in a Facebook group but Facebook has become a whiny bitch and god forbid I mention any type of hurting. I even used abbreviations for the self harm and suicide part and it still couldn’t be approved because if Facebook figures out what I meant it could get the group in trouble. So here it is. Hope you like it.

I’m busy
9/15/19

99.9% of the time
when I say I’m busy
it’s not a fun busy.
It’s not an out with friends busy. It’s not a doing something I enjoy busy.

I’m busy dealing with severe cramps from IBS.
I’m busy trying to calm a migraine down
enough that I can truly get some rest.
I’m busy figuring out which med to take for which issue
because I can’t take them together.
I’m busy figuring out which part of my body needs the one heating pad I have the most
and which is going to have to wait.

I’m busy watching TAGS or listening to music
in an attempt to get myself out of a panic attack.
I’m busy reminding myself it’s okay to eat
even though I gained a pound and that I’m not going to gain 20 pounds
from eating a bowl of cereal.
I’m busy figuring out which pair of shorts and which shirt
are going to cause the least sensory issues.
I’m busy finally understanding the joke someone told 5 years ago.
I’m busy cuddling with my cats to calm my depression.
I’m busy making memes
to cope with my various issues.
I’m busy crying the tears
that needed to be cried for 3 weeks
before I allowed them to come out.
I’m busy doing anything I can to distract myself
from self harm urges and suicidal thoughts.
I’m busy going to physical therapy.
I’m busy going to talk therapy and DBT therapy.
I’m busy doing the best I can to keep myself alive.

I live with multiple chronic physical and mental illnesses including but not limited to:
- a severe airborne latex allergy
- chronic intractable migraine
-IBS mixed
- fibromyalgia
- borderline personality disorder
- major depressive disorder
-generalized anxiety disorder
-post traumatic stress disorder

I spend a lot of time in the ER for both mental and physical illness.

The physical illnesses I spend time in the ER for are the chronic migraine and the latex allergic reactions. I don’t go often for these but sometimes they are too much to manage and I have to go get some relief.

When I go for my migraines I normally get a migraine cocktail of torodol, Tylenol, phenergan, fluids, and oxygen. I’ve also gotten magnesium. These are all either through a shot or through an IV/ IVP. I usually walk out feeling much better.

When I go for my latex allergy I sometimes get an IV of Benadryl and prednisone or sometimes (like today) I got prednisone, Pepcid, and hydroxyzine in pill form. I don’t feel better when I leave but that’s because the meds take longer to work. Eventually I feel better.

When I go for mental illness it’s a bit different and I have other posts about that. Pretty much they just hold me there until I can get an evaluation and placement in a psychiatric hospital.

So, I’m in the ER a lot, mostly for mental illness. I feel bad almost every time I go because I feel like they all probably think “oh it’s him again.” I need to allow myself to be okay with going to get help. That’s what they are there for. It’s just hard when it’s chronic conditions because I feel like I should just be able to deal with it on my own, and for the most part, I do. It’s that small percentage of the time where I can’t handle it on my own that I go to the ER.

IBS is a terrible, time consuming, and painful syndrome. It can cause cramping, nausea, diarrhea, and constipation.

There are 3 types of IBS: IBS-C is IBS with constipation, IBS-D is IBS with diarrhea, and IBS-M is IBS mixed meaning both constipation and diarrhea can occur.

I have IBS-M. IBS-M is a lose-lose situation. I’m either super constipated for days, or I’m having diarrhea.

Worst part? I never know which one it’s going to be. I have to carry around both laxatives and anti-diarrhea medications.

I try not to take laxatives if at all possible though because taking laxatives doesn’t just put me into a normal bathroom cycle, it pushes me into a diarrhea flare up which then means I have to take an anti-diarrhea medication and that puts me back where I started.

It’s painful either way. It’s time consuming either way. And quite frankly, it’s gross either way.

There are things people with IBS-C can do to try and keep themselves regular. There are things people with IBS-D can do to try and keep themselves regular. But for someone with IBS-M, those attempts at staying regular don’t really work. Instead of keeping us regular, things like laxatives or anti-diarrhea medications push us to the other extreme.

IBS can be scary. The cramps can be so intense that you feel there’s more going on than IBS. The gas pains in your chest can make you think you’re having a heart attack. You always have to know where the nearest bathrooms are and it seems that accidents are common, especially in those with IBS-D or IBS-M.

It isn’t a fun thing to deal with. We miss out on events because of it, we deal with a lot of embarrassing situations.

It’s hard to talk about. It’s not a conversation many people care to have. Most don’t want to listen to it. I get it, it’s gross. But this is a real medical condition and people deserve to be able to share their struggles with it.

[Part 2/2]

After I was wheeled into my overnight room, the Dr W came back to update me and my parents.

“Well, luckily, it’s not cancer,” was what he said in a nutshell, at first.

My parents had let out a sigh of relief. Colon cancer was checked off the list.

“We’ve also eliminated [the illness that I can’t spell or pronounce].” That was a relief as well.

Dr W had taken a pause. “From what we’ve seen, I believe that your [child] has Crohn’s disease.” I can’t remember my parents’ reactions. Surprised, shocked, relieved at the answer we had been searching for. I knew that I had asked what that was. He explained that it was, in simple terms, a chronic illness in my intestines (in my ileum, specifically, I learned later) that caused stomach problems like pains, bowel issues, nutritional problems, etc.

I came to terms with this quickly. I had a name for what I had. Dr L disagreed with Dr W’s unofficial diagnosis at first, trying to postpone the actual diagnosis until later, considering that I was much younger than most Crohn’s sufferers. He gave me some medicine, steroids and Prilosec, I believe, to help with the intestinal pain. It mostly worked. I only had a couple pain episodes per week.

I recovered from the surgery quickly. Fifth grade started, and I became depressed from my condition that caused me so much heartache and what I knew separated me from my friends.

Eventually, Dr L did, finally, officially diagnose me with Crohn’s disease. A chronic illness. Something that I would deal with for the rest of my life. Here I was, a 10-almost-11-year-old with something that a child should never have to deal with. Yet I was a child who took a cocktail of medications each morning and night, and had frequent visits to a doctor to make sure that my stomach wasn’t going to kill me with pain.

Over the next few years, I became increasingly depressed. Anxious, as well, both of my mental illnesses coming from my physical illness as well as all the shit that was going on in my life. It was too much to bear, almost. I self harmed. I tried to overdose on steroids when I was 12. Too young, the adults said, for a child to be depressed. You have it lucky, they said.

I didn’t feel particularly lucky.

***

It’s 2019, my dudes, and I’ve been in remission for a while. I recently relapsed but have started to get better, finally. I take nearly ten different medications for my Crohn’s as well as a myriad of mental illnesses (yay!). My medical life sucks ass, but I have a group of friends who accept me, and a passion for the fine arts and a love for animals to keep me stable.

It’s not cancer. My life is going okay. And for that, I’m grateful.

#MightyPoets#CrohnsDisease#Depression#physicalillness #IBD

I am really struggling with this today. He couldn't, wouldn't be there for me when my #physicalillness and #emotionalillness got worse. He used my illness against me when we argued. Instead trying to make things better as I tried, he'd tell me to get out (we lived in "his" house). I would tell him that I wasn't leaving because I loved him and wanted to make our marriage work. He never said the same... I tried so hard, but it was just too much. I couldn't carry us both (he has his own emotional garbage he's carrying around except his is in the depths of his "closet" and he denies their existence and affect on our life). Six months ago, when he told me to get out, once more. I did.
I am doing great, for the most part, but there are days, like today, when life just doesn't seem worth the price.. All my childhood trauma (#emotionalabuse, #neglect, #rejection, #abandonment, etc...) surfaces and I don't know how to pull myself out of this place....