May 29, 2013

• It’s Not My Fault

  I am incredibly hard on myself, and that is putting it lightly.

  I’m very hard on myself because growing up people were very hard on me.

  I’ve been battling depression since I was about 10 years old. I was told that depression was a sin, it was my fault, and that I could control it. I grew up believing these things, which only added to my depression when I realized no, I can’t control this. It’s taken me almost 14 years to realize that that belief is just plain wacko, and a bunch of crock. I still feel guilty every morning when I take my medicine. “You’re a failure. You brought it on yourself, and now you’re helpless to get out of it.”

  When I was 18 I started having severe stomach/digestion problems. I was throwing up after every single meal, but I wasn’t forcing myself to, I just couldn’t help it. I kept going to the doctor for 3 years to figure out what was going on. The entire time I had people telling me it was all in my head, that I was really just bulimic and that I was using it as an excuse to get attention. The only person who believed me that I didn’t actually have body issues, and that it was something I couldn’t control was my primary care physician, and for that I am eternally grateful. After many painful and inconclusive tests, they finally did a stomach emptying scan.
  Turned out, my stomach is paralyzed. I was throwing up after every meal because my stomach does not “relax” to allow food in, and then “squeeze” it out. My stomach is stuck in a restricted state, and I can only eat very small portions of food at a time or else it can’t all fit in there and it comes back up. I’m an extremely rare case for gastroparesis, which is why it took so long to get the approval for that scan. Almost everyone else who has gastroparesis is morbidly obese and/or diabetic. At the time of my diagnosis diabetes had been ruled out and I weighed a whopping 88lbs.

  Then the sleeping problems. They became really bad the first few years of college. I remember spending my first semester constantly studying because I couldn’t sleep. The only time I could sleep was either in class, in the back of a moving vehicle (I paid more than a few friends to just drive me around town because it was the only way I could sleep). I slept on the floor of my parent’s computer room. I was averaging only 2-3 hours of sleep a night, and not all at one time. Then I started having trouble staying awake at all. I would sleep, and sleep, and sleep. Even after I slept the night through, I would still wake up exhausted and needing a nap not long after waking up.
  I was told I was lazy. I was told that I was just trying to get out of housework, school, or errands.
  Turns out I’m narcoleptic. It’s something I can’t control, and something that there isn’t a lot of medication out there for it yet. The only prescription they gave me was for a GHB to help me feel more awake during the day. I don’t need a stimulant to make me more hyperaware than I already am. I need something to help me feel rested. I feel that medication would be doing nothing but masking the symptoms, and considering it’s huge side effects (one of them being rendering hormonal birth control ineffective) it just doesn’t seem worth it.

  I haven’t been able to accept any of these things as stuff that I am not able to control. I haven’t been able to accept that some of these things, OTHER PEOPLE are going to need to work with me around them (especially the narcolepsy).
  Just yesterday Reid and I were talking about the things we needed to get done before we leave for the Shore. He left a list of things we need to do, and a list of the things we need to buy before we left. I came home last night and told him I would do what I could off his lists. When I got home, I was overwhelmingly tired, and absolutely had to lay down for a bit because I could not keep my eyes open for the life of me. When Reid texted me to tell me he was getting off work a few hours earlier than planned, I fully expected him to be angry at me for napping instead of doing anything to prepare for the trip. He was of course not the slightest bit angry or even annoyed. “This is something you can’t control, and that we have to work around, it’s totally fine. Nap whenever you feel like you have to. It’s not like it’s your choice.”

  I couldn’t love him more for that. But it did make me realize just how hard I am on myself. I go into everything with the mindset of, “How can *I* take care of myself/my partner all by myself.” I never go into anything thinking that someone else is going to be generous and help me out. If they do, that’s great, and I’ll love them all the more for it and be incredibly grateful, but I never enter into any situation expecting that kind of help. I approach everything as if I have to take care of it alone. Worst case scenario type of deal. Stressful, yes. Unneeded pressure, probably. But this is how I’ve survived for as long as I have.

  But maybe it’s time for me to adjust that way of thinking. I think that, at least when it comes to some areas, mainly just the health related ones, I should start expecting people to work with me more. Not all the time, but some of the time.
  At the very least, I want people to stop telling me every medical related thing that goes wrong is *my fault* and I should control it. So far, they have not been right a single time, and I have the medical records and enough missing organs to prove that.

  So here’s a polite, “Go screw yourself” to all those who told me that all of these ailments were things I just made up to get out of something/ get attention.

  • 11:29 am
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