My Body is My Worst Enemy

Breathe in. Breathe out. Taking it all one step at a time. I watch everyone around me effortlessly complete their daily tasks as I struggle to survive the day. Just keep going. 

Another lunch I have to turn down. Another carefully chosen meal to avoid triggering any symptoms. But is it really a surprise when it all flares up anyway? Another month full of pain. Should I live in a bubble? Safe from it all? Would it even matter if I locked myself away when the real issue is my own body?

I try to stay positive. Try to play it off. Pretending the constant pain isn't that bad. Convincing myself I recognize the stranger I see in the mirror. Putting on a brave face for a surgery that led to more questions. Laughing off test after test with no abnormal results. I'm tough. I'm resilient. 

I'm starting to crack.

How do you solve a problem you can't identify? So many possible diagnoses being thrown around that I feel like I'm living in a medical journal. My organs all working together to destroy what they so desperately need to keep safe. At what point do I stop trying and just accept my fate? Sentenced to live in a body that is trying to stay alive despite itself. 

I have had more ultrasounds than most pregnant women I know. Never once have they offered any insight. I have changed my diet over and over, hoping for relief only to be faced with the same symptoms a few days later. I feel best when my stomach is empty but I have to eat at some point each day. The jeans in my drawers cover a range of sizes. Smaller pairs for when my body is happy and at its normal size. All the way up to the biggest size for when my stomach cosplays a pregnancy. Even then, sometimes the biggest size is not even enough.

I never see the same body twice in the mirror. Sometimes a simple task of switching from pajama pants to a pair of leggings causes such severe bloating that I am bed ridden with discomfort. If I'm lucky, it will fade within a few hours. I'm not usually lucky. I have heating pads in every room of the house and even at my desk for work. It doesn't do much for relieving the pain but at least the warmth offers comfort.

Even on days I successfully avoid every possible trigger, I am at risk of sudden sharp pains that threaten to bring me to my knees. I've developed a talent for hiding the pain on my face. Social events are the bane of my existence. Having to find an outfit that will fit in case I bloat mid event is nearly impossible. Things that cover the bloat make me look like I'm drowning in cloth when I'm not currently doubled in size. I envy people who can wear more than just one trusted outfit for a night out. I envy even more the poeple who can just live in the moment and not scour the menu and find the one item that might keep them from getting sick. Everyone is eating an entree and I am nibbling on a plate of edamame.

Overall, there are worse things that could be going on with my body. With my life. Yet that does not lessen the frustration and pain I feel daily. Infertility, migraines, joint pain, and near daily bloating are my prizes for surviving another day. I am stuck in a prison that I can never escape. A life sentence and a death sentence simultaneously occuring in the same broken body.