Trudge

I'm not a very healthy person, physically or emotionally.

I constantly undermine my own legitimacy as a human, whether by ignoring the good that others see in me or talking about things that I don't really care about to avoid having an honest conversation that would actually matter. In so doing, I turn myself into a person even I don't like.

My body decided that, at the ripe old age of 22, my peak has passed. My body sucks at being a body. I am a doctor's dream patient. With everything that's wrong with me, he'd be a millionaire in no time, even faster were it not for my medical insurance. I've got von Willebrand's disease, so my blood is too thin. My ears are infected with otitis exertna, making ear infections and headaches inescapable. My allergies come straight from hell and a day that I can breathe is practically a miracle with the wacked-out asthma I enjoy. My particular brand of IBS gives me stomach and intestinal spasms and leaves me feeling nauseous pretty much all the time. The nerve damage in my back pains me daily. Eczema covers my skin. In the summer I look like a leper, the rashes covering my arms, legs, and feet. In the winter my hands crack open and bleed, dry and ugly.

For the sake of my happiness, I figured out pretty early that I had to make a joke out of all this or I'd lose the will to do anything other than lay in my bed all day. I don't know how I go on sometimes. I want to do more than I can. I've always wanted that and I just don't know how to want anything else.