Today a healthcare company delivered oxygen to my home, so that I may have enough oxygen to keep my heart relaxed at night. This ugly sore thumb machine sits against a wall of art, and vinyl allowing a disease like stain to spread throughout my life once again. It’s just disappointing.
I have grieved a lot in my life because I am a person who feels things very deeply, and personally. If someone cracks a joke about me, or towards me, I might laugh but I’ll go home and dissect it to fix whatever about me is laughable. I don’t want to make any mistakes, I don’t want to be put on the spot, and of all things I don’t want to be laughable. I have never been able to deal with imperfection; and my first response is anger then deep deep grief.
Before I was diagnosed I can remember my exact weight. I can remember not even being able to walk across a room, but I wanted to be a “runner” and to lose all this weight I had foolishly packed on. I dreamed of the day when they would fix my breathing, and I could become “normal.” When you’re told that you are basically unfixable, and handed a bunch of medications that cause even more outward disasters, I grieved extremely hard. From the outside it appeared as anger, but really I was just at a loss. My soul, and my body have never matched. Years later, with drinking incorporated, and heavy medication I’ve gained even more weight. I’ve put off college, and stopped pushing myself in a lot of ways I thought I always would have. And today, after all these weeks of constant work I woke up, looked in the mirror, and then over at this stupid machine causing an internal explosion.
Dylan Klebold once wrote in his diary while suffering from insane depression, “eternal suffering in infinite directions through infinite realities” which feels exact with this disease; it crushes my soul taking over with its infinite type nature. At only twenty-three I feel as though I have lived five different lives, and the pain that pushes through my body not only when I climb stairs, but when I see pregnant people is enormously heavy. One domino after another falls in my mind; diseased, disabled, overweight, anxious, and weird. I have fallen victim to my own body in which I am trapped. Why do people fight so hard for this life sometimes?
Suffering from a disease physically and mentally is a daily roller coaster. This is the down side; the side that I am not allowed to show. This side that appears angry, but really, I’m grieving for a life that I do in fact have…