Might As Well Be Dead

Suicide is something no one wants to talk about, but for some people who suffer from chronic health issues, ending it all doesn’t really seem like the end of the world, pun intended. I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression for quite some time now, but in the last year, being so debilitating sick has really made me question why I’m still alive. Everything that I used to love, I now hate with a burning passion.

I once enjoyed eating, so much that I’d try to cook all kinds of recipes and try new restaurants. Now, I literally have a panic attack when someone mentions going out to eat…and if it’s a new restaurant, even worse. If it’s a restaurant with only single restrooms, that’s basically the end of the world, because if I’m going to get sick and it’s occupied, there’s a really good chance I’ll either have to swallow the vomit or shit my pants…or take meds that will prevent me all together from going to the bathroom for literally a week.

I used to love being intimate with my boyfriend, but now every time we play, I worry that the wrong push or movement will either pinch my sciatica and leave me crying, or trigger unforgivable shits. I used to love enjoying a glass of beer with dinner, but now I worry that one sip too many will again upset my stomach beyond repair, and don’t even get me started on margaritas. I’ve had to kiss hard alcohol goodbye entirely.

So when I’m not in the bathroom shitting or choking my brains out, I spend the rest of my time anxiously waiting for when it will happen next. Because it’s not a question of “if,” but “when.” I can expect to projectile vomit with every meal after 10am, and diarrhea is standard every day…if I haven’t taken immodium to seize up bowl movements entirely. But then the flip side of not going for a while is again diarrhea because it’s built up and hasn’t been relieved in a while.

This bring me full circle to suicide. My parents are the definition of “hover parents,” who have literally controlled my every move since day one. I tried to leave home for college, and later law school, and even with full ride scholarships (housing and books included), but dad found some way to guilt me into not leaving. For college it was that my grandfather was just diagnosed with cancer and my family needed my support. He went on to live an additional six years, and died the night before my last final in college. In law school, it was that I’d already signed a lease on a building that later made me hate life itself, but because I’d committed to it, I couldn’t up and leave for my dream school that I got off the waitlist last minute.

Being so sick, I literally enjoy none of the things I used to. I can’t go to the movies, because it’s too long away from home, and if I go to the bathroom, which will usually be upwards of three times in a two hour period, I’ll have missed most of the movie. I hate socializing with friends I used to romp around with, because again, I’m constantly anxious I will get sick, and I can’t explain my shitty situation casually over coffee.

I guess what I’m trying to say is at this point, after more than a year of almost weekly doctor appointments, incorrectly done blood draws, horrible side effects to medications that promised me relief, and a gaggle of pointless and untreatable diagnoses, I’m left feeling like there isn’t much point to putting on a brave face anymore and pretending like I’m okay.

I constantly feel like I’m going to vomit, so like right now, I’m not even going to try eating breakfast or lunch. I don’t skip meals often, but when you know you’re going to puke it up anyway, I’d rather skip choking on my own vomit and worrying I’m going to pass out alone in a bathroom.

I wish someone could give me a shoulder to cry on, or even tell me that it’s going to be ok…because right now I feel like everything in my world is falling apart. Without law school, I thought I could get better faster. Now it looks like I might not even be able to go back if I can’t get my medical issues under control. No one cares what happens to me…so it makes it hard to give a shit about myself either.

Perhaps Until Soon,

kissed.with.a.quip.

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Spoonie Adventures in Books, Beauty, & Bullshit

I'm a 25 year old law and business student living with a chronic health condition. Follow along on my shenanigans.

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