Six years ago I wanted to die. Today I want nothing more than to live.
As many of you know, I have been sick since May of this year and it has greatly impacted my quality of life. In fact, I'd argue it has totally destroyed it. I can't do a fraction of the things I used to do. I can't do the things I want to do. While doctors have been pointing me in the direction of a possible diagnosis, whatever it is that I have is still unconfirmed. That means I sit here all day long, scared and depressed, vulnerable and alone, thinking over my list of symptoms (that seems to be growing and growing) wondering things like, "What if it's not Meniere's Disease after all? My mom's house had all that mold upstairs. Is it mold exposure? What are those symptoms? Oh crap, I have all of those! Is it meningitis? Lead poisoning? Chinese Drywall? Diabetes?"
The list goes on and on and I'm terrified. I want nothing more than to get better. To be healthy again. That's all I want. I will never take my health for granted again. My eating disorder has taken a back burner. Is this the lesson I have to learn to kick my ED for once and for all? Do I have to get really sick and really scared just to discover how much life means to me? How precious it is? How unpredictable?
This is all really depressing. I've tried to stay in positive spirits, but I know this is all wearing me down. I am depressed. Who wouldn't be? I can't get off the couch some days. I can't drive or go to the grocery store. It's not a matter of feeling sorry for myself. It's a matter of being scared for myself. I might be lucky and whatever is wrong with me could be an easy fix, but it's been five months and no relief. No answers. I think about my Dad when he first found out he had cancer. I know that whatever I have doesn't even compare to that, but I wish I had been more careful and more understanding when he was sick and scared. I tried to be compassionate, as much as a twelve year old could be. I can't even imagine how terrified he must have been, but he never really let anyone see that.
Suddenly my eating disorder means nothing. It's powerless. I don't care about weight. I don't care about the size written on the tag inside my jeans. I don't care about how thick my thighs are or how many calories are in salad dressing or how many pounds I can lose before Christmas.
I just want to get better.