Chronically Ill and Online

 One thing about being chronically ill that has wreaked havoc on my mental health is that it constantly feels like “meaningless” obstacles in day-to-day life feel immensely more impactful. This is, to me, because after countless involuntary rides on the “how can this day get worse” merry-go-round, you ultimately unlock a secret level of devastation. A special level reserved just for losses that to anyone else would be a few minutes of dwelling upon, but for me, is enough to ruin the entire day. Or week. For me today, it was my heating pad breaking at 1 in the morning. To the average Joe, this may have been a “sigh, there goes 40 bucks” moment. But for me, who spends the majority of my time in bed, this was catastrophic. Of course, the initial desperate CPR of the heating pad- Come on, hold on, don’t leave me!!! But after those initial attempts turned into 15 minutes of squatting in the dark with my iPhone flashlight, I had to succumb to the cruelty of my reality. That's my “safe sp...

It was 1:20  am on Friday morning when I got the notification that I reached my 30 days sober. wow, that was fast. The reality is, for someone chronically ill, my life quickly became built around my next “fix”. Eventually, this affected my day to day, ultimately culminating when I was forced to wonder if it was making me worse.   As a loyal patient of Dr. Google, I convinced myself I had cannabinoid hyperemesis syndrome.   Nausea? Check. Vomiting? Check. Chills and sweats? Check. However, In all truth, I believe my recent stomach flare-up may have been caused by intense stress mixed with a glass or two of wine.   Yeah yeah I know, “you had to know that wouldn’t help??” No, it wasn’t the best idea. But amongst horrible health anxiety, general depression, and invisible illnesses…I just wanted to feel like a normal 24-year-old on a Saturday night. So much for that. Fuggedabouhdit.   30 days. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t ingesting thc in some form, f...

Yellowjackets. This show, which I accidentally stumbled upon, ended up becoming way too large a part of my everyday thoughts. Not only is Sophie Thatcher exquisite to watch and listen to, but I love the entire ride the plot has in store. I think the root of my adoration for this show really comes from my love for Lost. One of my all-time favorite shows. As you may gather, I love a good plane crash plotline. Yellowjackets give me purpose, as ridiculous as that sounds. Watching those girls starve and survive, makes me feel the strength to persevere. If Sophie Thatcher has to have air for lunch, it makes it feel slightly less bad. They’re in the wilderness- they can’t have crunchwraps, sandwiches, or pizza. I’m in good company.   What do you mean no Chipotle!? OF course, I’m often sobered that their fiction is my reality- the desperately wishing for normalcy and food. But gosh, this show not only distracts me but entertains me. I probably sound like a wacko, but this show is seri...

Let me begin with the basics, I guess. I have an autoimmune condition, that beautifully graced me with a paralyzed stomach in recent years. I’ve had to bid farewell to my delicious diet before, back in 2021 when I first got really sick...But man, does it suck way worse the second time around. Other than that, this is the only other horrible flare. 20 pounds down in one month is the dream of a lot of people- me included- but not like this. The gym is one thing, but starvation? I mean, be a little bit more creative! That’s just downright boring. Sorry, cynical humor has helped me cope. I’m on the, “why bother eating?” Diet: no fat, no dairy, no gluten, no vegetables, no fat, no fiber, no raw fruit, no grease, no sugar, no spice. I mean… that isn’t even all of it. I don’t recognize this person- the person who eats to live….I live to eat!! Or at least I used to. It’s like a weird confusing dream that I can’t seem to snap myself out of. “What do you mean I can’t have a Crunchwrap from Taco ...

Okay, so, who wants to be the one to hand me the award for most guilty-feeling selfish person? Seriously, I’ll wait. With my 95-year-old grandfather on hospice, consuming the entirety of my family, the last thing I really need to be doing is having any spotlight on me. But boy, does my matrix know when to fuck with me. It was Monday, February 10th when everything went wrong. Not only was my grandfather critically admitted into the ICU, but my irrefutably tumultuous relationship with Mary Jane became undeniable. As my stomach burned like the depths of hell, I knew that Me and MJ, needed to break up. I always thought of myself more as a Peter Parker, that in EVERY universe I was meant to be with MJ. I guess that’s not really the case… but god I wish it was. THC was the delicious-tasting fuzzy bandaid that magically made my everyday illnesses livable. So you can imagine that deciding to split up didn’t go the most amicably. MJ is the ex that makes you want to keep coming back. The ex that...

I have always been a bit of an oversharer, and honestly, this seemed like the most patient platform for my thoughts. After exploring the intriguingly dark depths of Reddit, I've deduced that it mostly is for people who actively need help, or are giving it. Whereas I'm just a complainer, or sharer of random and eclipsing thoughts. But I'm also an appreciator of others' random and eclipsing thoughts, which is why I'm here. I'm a giver and a taker. I'll start by telling you a little bit about me. Everything went south when I was on my 8th-grade trip to Washington DC. In the cold weather, I noticed my fingers had turned white and went numb. Hmm... that's new. I hadn't given it another thought until four years later when a whole crock of shit hit the fan. Random red splotches covered my chest, bloodshot eyes, firey joints, and constant fatigue. Using what looked like a mini cookie cutter to take a sample from my leg, doctors determined that I have Sjögren...