I will be Great

Today my chest hurts, it’s sort of a dull ache but it’s definitely there. I feel like at any second I could burst out crying but I know deep down inside that that will never solve the problem, just numb the feeling. I’ve tried breathing exercises, showering, eating, drinking, hell I even tried going for a walk but, it’s still there.

Today’s bad but it’s not the worst it’s been, it could never be that bad again. Not because it doesn’t have the capabilities, but because I refuse to let it resurface and ruin everything again. I’m the tough one you see; how can I be tough if I can’t even stand without the dizziness swaying me about like a door with well-greased hinges.

I’ve been in my house for three months and have left less than twenty times. At the start, I would leave on a Saturday or Sunday and my friends would take me for a drive for half an hour, I was in pain the whole time, like a bubble was in my chest and wanted to crawl out. I wanted so badly on those weekly trips to be okay, to laugh along with everyone else and not think about it but I couldn’t, it was too huge and winding its tentacles around me. I’d come home and sleep, sometimes until the next night, I was exhausted after being driven around for 45minutes, what was wrong with me? When I’d wake up and get a handle of where and when I was, I would cry, sometimes silently and sometimes howling. I was so unsure of what was happening to me and honestly, I was scared, the most scared I could be, was I dying? Is this me now? How have I gone from such an independent, adventurous person to a person that can’t walk to the end of her driveway without getting weak and dizzy?

Before it started, coronavirus hit and I was about to leave, I was about to move away to somewhere I’d never been, and I was excited. I was doing it, everything was sold, tickets were booked, and I was two weeks off going until bam, the announcement came, the boarders are closed until further notice. Oh well, I’ll get there, was my whole thought pattern, so optimistic, almost wishing it into fruition. The whole point of leaving was to prove everyone wrong; I was going to have an adventure, I was going to have those cool vacay pics to post on social media, I was going to create a story for myself, I was going to find a life and hopefully find myself while I was at it. I think it started there.

So, there I was in lockdown in a share house with people I didn’t know, hoping to survive this new world that seemed to be crumbling outside. The walls of that place were so thick and familiar that even through the strangers and the uncomfortable feelings I could stay grounded and dream my days away. I was allowed to stay to help with rent payments for a little while longer but eventually, I was off to live with my ma.

Back to a single bed in my mum’s office, trying to be a good daughter but losing myself in the meantime. Mum is high risk you see, so leaving was not an option unless it was for the weekly grocery shop, in which, I would go for a sneaky little drive beforehand to just get out and clear my head. I love driving, definitely in my top 8 favourite things to do.

I was good, so good, doing what the rest of the world was doing, exercising, baking, reading, learning about my spirituality and honing my gardening skills. I was so happy, and still so optimistic that when the world started again, I’d be leaving. I struggled through months of people around me telling me it wasn’t going to happen, they were trying to be gentle, but I refused to listen, I would do what I always do when I hear something I didn’t want to, acknowledge to their face and disregard being their back. One day I finally realised it wasn’t going to happen, I remember sitting there so ashamed that I’d failed, so angry at myself for giving in but to be practical, I had to let it go, the one thing I had been living for had been taken and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get the chance again, I was in pain. I felt low, I was going forwards, so far forwards and now I was lost.

I knew me and I knew this wasn’t going to be the end of my story so off I went, walking hours every day, reading anything I could get my hands on and cultivating that damn garden until my fingers bled. I needed to work through everything, build my life again and at this point, I would need to work harder than I ever have before. I enrolled in university, knowing full well that I would have to add years on for my lack of a high school degree, but I was ready to try. I started job hunting and thought eventually I would be on my way back to where I was, stability, self-sustainability and goals worth reaching for. I needed the goals, goals are what I’ve lived by, those yearly trips to Byron weren’t just a vacation to me, they were something to look forward to, somewhere to run to for a few weeks in a year, somewhere to collect stories.

I punished myself without even realising, actually thinking I was rewarding myself. I figured I’d worked so hard and saved so much that I deserved a treat, I bought books, shoes, clothes, anything and everything I was fond of was not far from being in the post to my house. I spent the majority of what I’d saved for my move within months. The pain was still there but this time I could only numb it for short stints of time when I’d spend money or walk an extra k.

One day I woke up, super healthy breakfast full of fruits and muesli ensued and the next thing I knew I was screaming in pain. My stomach felt like it was burning, it wasn’t a burn like I’d felt before, not like those pesky cysts, but I hurt. Next, I was being taken to the hospital, flashing lights, two paramedics with the deer in headlights look I've seen before when anything that involves the stomach arises. Damnit. The doctors looked puzzled and seemed mildly annoyed, I didn’t call you all, I don’t want to be here, but right now I'm hurting. ‘She’s got gastro, no a UTI, no an ovarian cyst’, they were throwing things up in the air until one sounded the most likely, ulcer it was. Off home, I headed and onto a strict diet involving absolutely no flavour and a lack of all things fun. I was okay for the time being and jumped back into my day-to-day grind.

Here comes the next blow, I needed to move out. No reason was ever really given it was more of a ‘this is our sanctuary and you’re getting too comfortable’ type of scenario. I was good with problems, always have been and this wouldn’t be any different to any other time. Except it was. Trying to find somewhere to live when you have no savings left, no furniture, no job and a big ole global pandemic looming over the world did not help whatsoever. But as luck would have it, I have some very resourceful friends and a warm bed and roof over my head was quickly found. Everything’s starting to work out.

Next, the job situation. In one week, I sent out over 17 resumes and nothing except for a couple of rejection emails were sent as a reply. ‘Sorry your qualifications don’t meet the perimeters of the position of fruit picking’, seriously, how am I unqualified for this, was all that ran through my head over and over. When I was finally able to hand-deliver, I quickly found the perfect job for me. I was newly employed and ready for the Christmas rush, bring it on.

The pain would come back every so often, but nobody could tell me the cause, so it was put on the back burner. Looking back, I should’ve been more curious, should’ve asked more questions or even remembered more symptoms when in the doctor’s office. I wish my memory was as good as it once was. I stopped working out, stopped reading, stopped being interested in things that weren’t in front of me. I started losing weight, sleep was a thing of the past and my mind was starting to blur. The only thing I was consistently doing in a day was feeding my newly acquired best feline friend and worrying. The worrying felt natural, almost acceptable, I didn’t realise how bad it was and that my life was being consumed.

On a day that was meant to be full of celebration and happiness turned dark and hollow. It started with an early rise, the recently usual unhealthy habit of red bull breakfast and a quick face of makeup and I was off. One of my closest confidants was graduating, I couldn’t be prouder, there I stood in the hallway of her house ready for a day of speeches, smiling, drinking and friends. I was so excited to be there, be involved and included really was a beautiful thing and something I’d soon miss. So, there I was standing tall in an auditorium waiting for the national anthem to ring out and the next thing you know I was ill. It started with the heat, so as the problem solver I am I took off my jacket, that didn’t help, next came the sudden weakness, my body felt like mush all of a sudden. ‘Oh no’ I thought to myself, I’ve felt this before and when it starts usually it’s a long struggle to get back to my solid form. Then came the nausea, ‘shit I have to go’ was all my brain was saying over and over again. I made a run for it, well more of a dodgy gazelle, leaping over legs to get to the door. I was boiling now and could barely put one foot in front of the other, if I focus on where I’m going I will get there. People were staring and like a drunk person pretending to be sober, I moved past with hopefully little disruption.

I made it to the bathroom and what followed was a combination of all that a genuinely drunk person would do but with the added bonus of fainting, crying and shame. I couldn’t leave the bathroom, I was so disappointed in myself, I ruined what was to be a day full of celebrations. How could anyone ever forgive me? But the problem for now was, getting to the emergency room. As I walked down the stairs being held up by two very strong people that looked scared, I was terrified.

Fun tip, to be seen quickly in an emergency room, throw up on the security guard, I’ve never seen a receptionist move so quickly. Through I went, back to the same bed as before, damn I hate these places, I felt like nobody believed me, I mean how can they not, I just threw up on a security guard at midday for god’s sake. Back to the look that’s become all too familiar and ultimately upsetting, the confusion in people’s eyes and the constant offering of blankets are a few delights that seem common in this place. They’re just trying to help but I didn’t want help, I wanted answers, why has this happened? Was it truly just gastro as I was being told? Finally, after a barrage of tests, questions and side looks from doctors I had an answer. He couldn’t look at me as he said it, almost as though he didn’t believe what he was saying as much as I didn’t believe what I was hearing, ‘complications with your ulcer.’

How do I still have an ulcer, it’s been six months since my first trip to this place, it can’t be right.

Back to the doctor I go, this time more focused and adamant on finding my answers. I was still working and pushing through each day as it got tougher and tougher to even put my shoes on in the morning. I was desperate. I sought answers in alternate medicine, the internet, even looking into family history and personal history, none had what I was searching for. Eventually, it was too hard to even leave the house.

When the final straw came, I was almost relieved, after visits to doctors and hospitals the decision was made, no more leaving the house. I couldn’t read, focus, drive, stand for long periods of time and eating was tough, I’d dropped to a scary weight. My life was changing, and I wasn’t healthy enough to catch it before it fell. I could see in the eyes around me were scared and when I looked in the mirror, I saw in me a look I’d never seen before, fear.

Phone calls would come, tests would run, and we were down to three possible outcomes, Crohn's, ulcerative colitis or gluten intolerance. One after the other they were struck off the list, but answers weren’t found. Every once and awhile we would get a positive result and then it would be taken away as quickly as it was drawn.

My life had turned into something that I had never thought of, I wanted so badly and selfishly for the world to go back into lockdown so I might have an excuse to stay in the safety of my four walls. My nights would be filled with pacing out the nausea and forcing myself to sleep so the dizziness would subside. My mind was going, and I wasn’t sure how I would get it back. I watched movies and series to try to distract myself but as soon as the power button was turned off, I would remember, that sense of longing, longing for the life I was missing out on, the seasons were changing but my wardrobe and day was staying the same.

I was once crying for my health but now I’m crying to mourn, mourn the life I once lived.

I need to do the same thing that’s been a constant throughout my life, build. I need to build my life again, learn, work, read, and most importantly smile. I need to get better, I can’t keep seeing those happy faces on tv and feel so far separated from that reality, I can’t keep this guilty feeling anymore, I need to be happy.

I will get better, whatever it is I will recover, I’m going to be great, I’m going to find those stories and live my own.