Someone Call 911 On This Pity Party

Have you ever encountered something in you that you just can't overcome?

So, this isn't the heavy stuff I meant to post about, but here's some other sort of heavy stuff instead, prompted by recent events. So, here goes.

I get sick. A lot. Among myriad other unidentified health problems I have going on, I have a disease, that wandered into my life for the first time when I was twelve. It's not fatal, or even maiming. It is, however, stigmatized, incurable, recurrent, and limitedly treatable.

It's one of the fun ones that disappears for months at a time, and then rears its head at the most inopprtune moments (every family vacation for the last 8 years, during my first date, etc). *I* know that I didn't get it because I'm a slut or dirty or whatever. I know that it doesn't come on my lady bits (which, ohmyjonas thank you for that one thing). *I* know that. But the end result is that I can't tell anyone what's really wrong, because I know where their minds would go, and because of the real fun stigma around it.

YEAH, that's a fun one to grapple with when you're a chubby, furry adolescent who won't even be kissed for another four years.

When most people say that they're Capital S 'Sick', they mean puking like there's gonna be no more puke tomorrow. And while I do plenty of that (leading to about 5 pregnancy tests in the last 10 months, and a disproportionate number of BabyThoughts), I mean I've been struck by a bolt from hell with the above. So keep up, will ya?

And when I'm Sick, everyone around me has to distance themselves from me, for their own health. I'm left so tired that it feels like somebody opened my tap, left it running, and drained me out. I can't really talk to my friends about it. I can't tell the truth to my boss about it. So there we are, exhausted and in bad pain and full of self-loathing, and noboday can even lie down on the bed with you.

Even the Boy, who is kind and supportive and pretty damn sweet about all my little quirks (read: insanities), had a pretty major meltdown about it when I had a particularly bad bout just last month. See Horrifically Vague Post of DOOM for a Horrifically Vague Description of how this bascially just destroyed any dream I had of him being the one person in the world who would see the full extent of it and say, "Fuck it, I don't care, you're still the same, I still want to touch you and hold you no matter what." And that? Is a fairly fucking lonely situation.

Wow. Debbie Downer much? Consider this the cops arriving to break up the above mentioned pity party.

So, anyhoo, I got sick AGAIN on the weekend, only three weeks after the last bad run of it, and after taking a whole bunch of precautions. So, to explain why I didn't have much by way of blogging material, here's what I did for the last 48 hours (apart from the 24 of them that I was sleeping).

I stared at this:

Contents: my stuffed baby seal (toy, not actual seal, disappointingly); nerdy book that made me cringingly obsessed with Welsh names at the age of 13; bank statement; computer; purse.

And this:

Light fixture with cool shadows.

But finally help arrived in the form of this:
And now I'm back at work. Good thing? Not sure yet.

Anyhoo, I just wanted to put that out there for all of my 1.5 readers. It feels good to say though, in any medium. Consider this my sickly 'coming out', hope you can still say "I love my dead, diseased blogger!", and I'll be back with something more fun real soon.

Yours in sickness,

Jordan