I’m talking to a beta fish. It’s the wee hours of the morning, and here I am, talking to a scarlet scaled beta fish. His name is Greg. He swims in circles around his highlighter yellow submarine and through his mini forest of navy and carnation colored artificial plants. He seems content in his home. He lives life in circumlocution, every single day the same cycle.

Do I live a life of circumlocution?

I wake up. Limbs blindly grab at my nightstand for the bottles that hold my saviors. I pour the cocktail into my hand, toss them into my mouth, cock my head back with a sip of water and swallow robotically. The same limbs peel heavy comforters off of other limbs and slowly I slip to the floor. I pause for a moment, sitting on the powderpuff pink carpet or I bolt straight to the bathroom.

Something seems to hold my cascading locks back when the contents of my insides are poured into the toilet, my alabaster hand gripping to the handicap bar in the bathroom as if my life depends on it. By now, from hanging my head over for so long, my mobility has decreased. I waddle to grab my toothbrush, towel, contacts and face wash, hobbling to get back to the sink.

In a numb haze, I do what must be done. Transform myself each morning into a being that looks perfectly fine. Normal. Healthy even. Life is a thing to be lived in a disguise, masking the true horrors that lie beneath the surface of every scarred individual. We all have our stories, our pasts that have molded us into who we are today.

Are the people that we are, the people that we have become, people who we want to be? Is there a single person who can look in the mirror and honestly say they are content with who they are and the choices they’ve made to be who they are to this day? I know I can’t do that.

I’ve made mistakes- we all have. There’s always going to be the could have, should have, would have. The what-ifs. The way we wished we could have changed things. The way that if one decision was different, life would be altered within an instant.

Each morning, I look in the mirror at the sopping wet face of a girl who lives her life in circumlocution and who can do nothing about it. Or can she? Does she chose to do nothing about it? Does she live her life wishing and wanting that she didn’t do what she’s done? That she could’ve taken other paths and made other choices?

But if she’d done that, she wouldn’t be her. She’d be someone else. She wouldn’t exist.

That she, that me, sits here, pondering a life of redundancy to a beta fish. Because right now, the only one who’s awake to listen, is him.



Do you know?

Hello again. I apologize for my distance, a lot has happened. Sorry to disappoint but, for this we’re going to take a teeny tiny break from talking about E (you’ll just have to wait and see- spoiler alert: it’s an ending turned sorta kinda tragic) Anyhow, so, let’s have a little chat. How many of you know about invisible illnesses? Hm? Anyone? No, I’m not talking mental illnesses.

I’m talking medically legitimate diseases that are proven via procedures, countless appointments and of course the pricks and prods of bloodwork. The kinds when you look at a person, they look absolutely fine. I’m talking specifically, autoimmune diseases. Crohn’s disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Rheumatoid Arthritis and Celiac disease…all of which, well, I was diagnosed with approximately seven years ago (it all started with Celiac at seven years old which to put in context, I would say I’ve been gluten free probably thirteen years).

Now by this point, you’re either thinking woah holy crap how does this girl live or okay I care why or uh um alright, what now? Well. Hi. Let’s do a little bit of a crash course.

Let’s assume for a second that, you know absolutely nothing whatsoever. Crohn’s disease and UC are underneath the umbrella of a condition called IBD, inflammatory bowel syndrome. IBD is a MUCH more serious condition that commonly mistaken IBS. IBD requires countless medications, procedures, dangerous treatments, and hospital stays. Overall, IBD has to do with, you guessed it, an inflammatory condition affecting bowel, also known as anywhere from the esophagus to the rectum is inflamed and lined with ulcers.

Sounds painful right? It is. Now, you see me writing this is simply educational purposes.

But, in a casual way, because quite frankly, when you don’t look sick, people think you’re fine.

There’s no civil war in your colon and you don’t have to race to the bathroom the second your stomach grumbles, society says. There’s no being unable to go to class because you’re so fatigued. No, to society you’re just hungover. Or maybe the reason you run to the bathroom right after you eat is not because your stomach can’t handle it because of your damaged and bloody colon, but because society thinks you’re bulimic. Or better yet, because you haven’t been eating because for once you want to not spend your life in the bathroom, people ask, “What’s your secret? You look amazing! How’d you lose all that weight?”

Well. Society is full of a bunch of idiots. But! These idiots could be no longer be idiots if! Perhaps they’d be a tad more open-minded and realize not everything is what it seems. These days, it seems that being gluten free is a very in-style thing to do. For celiacs, this is the most frustrating thing because when you say you’re gluten free due to an allergy, people never take you seriously. But that’s besides the point. With Crohn’s and Colitis, I LOOK fine. When I went home for a week and a half for a cute little hospital stint, nobody guessed I was sick. Because, to society, if there’s no visual evidence, it doesn’t exist. See point A. Society is full of a bunch of idiots. But hey, there are a few good people out there.

Can you imagine what it’s like to be unable to hold a fork or a spoon for a day? Or be unable to walk? Not have the strength to shower yourself? You can probably picture what this could be like. But until you experience it, you will never know. This is my reality. I have adjusted my life to make things work. I have worked my ass off to get to where I am in school.

But life, it’s a constant cycle of working harder and harder until you can’t anymore. And if you give up, there’s nothing left. So that’s where I’m at. Stuck in a rut after being bound to an IV infusion drug monthly for at least the next five years of my life. The drug will pretty much kill my immune system, is extremely rigorous, and is quite frankly, dangerous. But what choice do I have? I don’t. My body betrayed me and the only route to discharge was this lovely escort.

So now, it’s a time period of sit, watch, wait. Will things get better? I guess we’ll see.