Chronic illness

I Hate Water

I'm frustrated with myself. To be more accurate, my body. I have always struggle with drinking water and I have been dehydrated and sent to the hospital because of it three times already. When I was diagnosed with POTS, I never thought that water would be the golden ticket to functioning. It's not only that I hate water, it's that drinking 64 oz or more in a day has proven to make me nauseous. Putting anything in my stomach makes me nauseated.

So what's the solution? IV hydration therapy. I thought, wow I can't believe I can do it this way! Then after two months of getting stuck with needles twice a week, I realized that I couldn't endure long term. Not just because of nurses missing the vein and having to stick me again or the crazy bruising around every area they poke and not even just the poking itself. It was because long term veins train themselves not to get poked and I would have to get a port.

What is a port you ask? To be honest all I know is that it's a device that gets surgically inserted into your body and it allows you to get fluids from there. Yes I'm chronically ill and I'm used to tests, procedures, and needles but I have never had a surgery as an adult. So I thought I'd try to drink water on my own again. I can't describe the dark yellow color that my urine is right now. And I'm drinking as much as I can endure.

So I'm frustrated. I don't want to do this but I know I have to. I have to take care of my body even if it means doing things I don't like. Until then, I am going to do anything else to ignore the fact that I'm crazy dehydrated. Hopefully until I can set everything up, I won't be hospitalized.

Standard
Christianity

Nutcases, Pinterest, and Jesus

I want to write about my friends. I have a small group from church and I never imagined the friendship that would be created. I have many great girlfriends in the group and they have introduced me to whole new worlds.

They have broadened my faith in Jesus, expanded my musical tastes, and introduced me to beautiful new cultures. I hope I have done that for them in other ways. I hope that our friendship expands for years to come.

I have to admit that I am afraid. I am a person who is full of fear. I am scared that my friends will see something in me that makes them walk away. I'm afraid that this will end like the past ones. I fear that I won't have anything to give to them in our friendship like they have given to me.

As someone who is chronically ill, it is normal for me to not be reliable. But I want to be a person that they can come to, someone they want to come to. I want to impact their lives in positive ways. I want them to want me around. This is difficult for me to express. One day I won't struggle to tell them how I feel in person.

I love my Tuesday night nutcases. I love the women that have chosen to remain in my life. I wish them all the great things God has to offer. I wish for more 30 minute laughs. I wish for more inside jokes. I wish for more game nights. I wish for more chapters of my friend's book. I wish for more "drunk MM knows what she likes" moments. I wish for more Pinterest notifications. And I wish for more gluten free cookies and frosting! God willing, there will be more to come.

Standard
poetry

Like A Year 

I am like a year. I go through seasons and sometimes I’m not constant. But with me you will always know what day it is. My seasons depend on my body and the time surrounding it. I can have times where I am barely conscious. When months go by and I’m sleeping due to the exhaustion. 

Then all of a sudden I will be alive and happy. Where I experience everything going on around me and the Lord is constantly present. 

Again the season will change and all I experience is trial. I get stuck inside myself and God is on the back burner because I need to be strong on my own. Being weak with God gets prolonged and I slowly fall into a pit. 

I’ll end my year flat on my face trying to receive forgiveness. Forgiveness for the same sins I committed the year before. Making empty promises to my God about how I will serve him through out my year nonstop. 

I know what my seasons are and that I need to change them. But I never do. Each day I know I’m doing it all over again but I let it take its course. And through out it all, my savior is still as close to me as my right hand. What a fool I am and what a merciful God I serve.

Standard
Uncategorized

I’ll Get There…

Have you ever thought about what life would be like if we didn’t hate ourselves? I know for a fact that everyone does. We are all the same in that way but different in the ways we show it. Imagine loving yourself humbly. Do you think we would start loving the people around us too? Or is it selfish to daydream of a moment that I didn’t feel disgust when I looked in the mirror? Does loving yourself have to be selfish? Why can’t we like ourselves in the state that we are in right now? I am always trying to fix what’s wrong. I’m too fat here, I need a filter, or my boobs aren’t even. How do I become perfect?”

I don’t think I have done anything “perfectly” in my lifetime. I don’t even know what perfect is. When will I know when I reached “perfect” when I have never seen it? If I link my happiness to perfection, I will never become happy. No matter how many times I say, “Just one more sit up.” or “This foundation will make me look flawless.” There will always be something “wrong” or something to “fix.” I am not sure how to start accepting my self as I am or how to be okay with how my body changes. I know that I’ll have to take it one day at a time. “I’ll get there, Don’t worry.”

Standard
Chronic illness, poetry

A Slow Hollow

It’s slow. Agonizingly slow.

With each moment it grows more

and more swollen.

Closing my throat.

Digging my nails into my neck

trying to catch one breath.

Hours pass and I don’t want to

keep fighting for survival.

I can’t get rid of the poison.

Every heart beat feeds it.

The longer I continue to live

the longer it has to find more ways for me

to suffer.

Who could ever love this reality?

To exist next to it.

Who would choose to suffer

because I had no choice?

It eats me.

Slowly consuming me.

Seven years, what is left of me?

It makes me into nothing.

I’m wasting away, unable to

choose my existence.

I exist as it wants me to,

Hollow.

Standard
poetry, Uncategorized

Can You See Me?


I am hidden.

I pride myself on being 

transparent,

but I find that I am so

much so, that I am invisible.

I have no color. 

I feel myself 

and there is no intriguing 

substance.

I have lived only 20 years 

and I just bought my 

first thong.

I am behind the times.

My body is a chameleon.

Morphing to the colors, shapes,

and habits of my surroundings.

No one can see me. 

Why do I blend into what 

I don’t want to be a part of?

How do I find myself?

Why does my honesty 

hide me?

Why can’t you see me?

Standard
Chronic illness, poetry, Uncategorized

Things That Pop Into My Mind


I like the smell of rain 

when it hits the pavement.

I don’t enjoy puddles 

because I always forget 

to buy shoes that are meant 

for jumping in them.

I have never envied others 

for having siblings because 

I knew if I had one,

they would be the better 

one.

I could stare out a window 

for hours, just spacing out 

at the nothingness.

Daydreaming while standing or 

sitting, creating worlds that

truthfully I never want

to become reality.

In middle school I was so 

bullied, that I changed my 

handwriting five times,

all as an attempt to get them

to like something about me.

I don’t know what my natural

writing looks like, since

when I don’t think about it,

it looks like five different fonts.

There is this reoccurring 

dream I have that I watch 

myself walk down stairs.

All in slow motion, then

suddenly,

I see a knife stab me in the 

chest.

It restarts, same snail speed.

Leaving me feeling anything but 

terrified.

What I do fear is fate.

Not mine but his and hers.

He’s gullible and enrolled in

the military.

She thinks life is like a

game of “follow the leader.”

Both big hearted, 

both scared of their past 

truths.

Afraid of being alone 

with themselves.

I know that I’m not 

going to ever work like 

my mother does from 9-5.

My body is broken and

there is no fixing it

with doctors, medicine,

herbal therapy, yoga, veganism,

vampirism, or detox program.

There are times when days 

go by and I realize that I haven’t 

eaten.

So no Shelly, I’m not thinking of 

children anytime soon.

I somehow have a zit on

my ear.

That won’t stop me from

picking at it like the rest.

I’m not afraid of confrontation,

in fact when it happens,

I get a thrill from fixing problems 

or even putting people 

in their place.

I want someone to hold me 

but I’m scared that when someone 

does they will find my intimacy 

repulsive.

This is my madness.

The FAQ sheet of yours 

truly.

Ramblings of a chronically ill,

pajama party loving,

chocolate eating,

wise-beyond-her-years,

20 year old woman.

Standard