I've always prided myself on my strong faith in something beyond the surface of life. No matter what stage of life I've been at, I've had solid beliefs in some thing or another. Ghosts, Gods, Goddesses, Fate, my purpose in the world, etc. Sometimes all at once.
These days, I've been wondering if I'm just very good at telling myself lies, and convincing myself to believe them. I wonder if ghosts don't exist, if fate is a hoax, if I am totally unimportant, if life is purposeless, and if there is a God, I wonder if he is not really on my side at all and never has been. I wonder if there is no "meant to be."
If I can convince myself that these are in fact all lies, I'll be dooming myself to a totally mediocre, uninspiring, boring, loveless life. I'll be numb, really. Which sometimes sounds wonderful.
Eleanor Roosevelt apparently said that "He who loses money, loses much; He who loses a friend, loses much more; He who loses faith, loses all." Can I afford to let my faith slip from my fingers? Do I have the strength to hold on to it for just a little while longer?
Although I don't know this for sure, I feel that most people who know me would be surprised to find that I have any faith at all. Frankly, I think my own mother would be surprised to hear me talking this way, although it is true that I've kept her shut out of "the real me" for years. It's also true that I keep most people shut out of "the real me," so it would not surprise me at all for them to believe that I am mostly without faith.
I need to know whether I've been fooling myself this whole time, or whether this is just a test. I'm still relying on old habits for clues, so I haven't been completely undone yet.
I'm going to make good on the promises I made while I was sick, and I'm going to try my best to focus on making my life better in the meantime. I won't allow my hopes to be raised, I'll just set them aside and wait for one last sign.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, January 08, 2007
Old Ironsides
Oh, what I wouldn't give for an iron stomach! I could be one of those people who can swallow hot peppers without blinking an eye. I wouldn't, because that's disgusting, but I could if I wanted to.
No, instead my digestive system is like some sort of funhouse slide for food. And vitamins as well, it seems! Well, at least for One-A-Day WeightSmart. Watch out for those, they can make you sick.
My body is treated like a playground. And not in the good, wholesome, "lick me from my head to my toes" kind of way. Oh no, it's rather like a group of small rambunctious children being handed a hammer and a box of matches each, and then given unfettered access to a gallery of priceless vases. "Here, take this and this, and do as much damage as you can!" And the entrance to the gallery is a slide full of digestive juices, and the vases are my organs. Destroy! Destroy!
Now, I'm really not sure if this is the way it's been my whole life or if this is just a side effect of aging. I'm only 24, so I really don't want to admit the latter. If I do, then I'll probably die at 40 at this rate. I'm fairly certain that I've had at least some sort of digestive problem at every point in my young life-- I've just dealt with it, ignored it, suffered through it for twenty some odd years. It's kind of like the way I grew up in a town full of cemeteries: I just thought it was normal. I thought everyone's hometown was like that.
I thought it was normal for me to have all these stomach problems. It didn't help that my mother kind of used the doctor as a threat, rather than help. "What, you want me to take you to the doctor? You want me to take you to the hospital?" But not in a helpful, nurturing way. More in a, "If you don't stop whatever you're doing, I'll take you to the hospital and expose you for a liar, and they'll poke you with things and you won't like it" sort of way. I don't REALLY think she meant it that way, and it's not like I would rationally and intelligently give her a list of my daily symptoms. I would act out and do weird stuff, because I was a child and didn't know any better. She probably never even knew about half of my stomach problems.
In any case, I always said "No" when I should have been saying, "YES, please, take me to the doctor! It's not normal to have daily stomachaches!"
And as time goes on, I'm constantly finding new things that I can't consume. I'm still not 100% about the lactose situation-- I'm starting to wonder if what I perceive as lactose-intolerance is actually a combination of other food problems/allergies. My latest is a fear of type 2 diabetes. My dad has it, he was diagnosed a year or two ago. It would explain a lot of random symptoms I have. I obviously also have problems with self-diagnosis...
But I can't eat greasy foods. I think that I can't eat certain dairy products. Too much caffeine will do me in. Herbal tea is out. Onions are a no-no. Alcohol isn't a great idea. Even chocolate sometimes doesn't agree with me. I can't drink orange juice really (even the low acid stuff gives me a bit of a problem). And I'm really starting to wonder if I can't have sugar, or if I have some sort of problem with some sugars and not others... I don't know. I'm waiting for the day when all I can have is bread and water. It'll happen, mark my words! And then I'll become allergic to water. What then, I ask you? I'll probably explode, because most of the human body is composed of water. Good!
In any case, I probably should go to the doctor to have these things properly checked out. Especially since things have gotten a little weirder lately. At least I can have a test for lactose intolerance, and find out if that's really it or not. It's just so hard to get that connection out of my head, that "doctor=bad" concept. I'm not actually afraid of the doctor like some are, I just have this idea that being unhealthy is something I can control or that I'm a bad person if I have to go to the doctor for something. It's funny the things we learn based on our environments growing up.
What an odd case of nature and nurture; Possibly inheriting certain illnesses from my parents, versus learning the idea that going to the doctor is something to be avoided. Except that I want to be healthy... so here we are, facing another paradox. With a hammer, and a box of matches.
No, instead my digestive system is like some sort of funhouse slide for food. And vitamins as well, it seems! Well, at least for One-A-Day WeightSmart. Watch out for those, they can make you sick.
My body is treated like a playground. And not in the good, wholesome, "lick me from my head to my toes" kind of way. Oh no, it's rather like a group of small rambunctious children being handed a hammer and a box of matches each, and then given unfettered access to a gallery of priceless vases. "Here, take this and this, and do as much damage as you can!" And the entrance to the gallery is a slide full of digestive juices, and the vases are my organs. Destroy! Destroy!
Now, I'm really not sure if this is the way it's been my whole life or if this is just a side effect of aging. I'm only 24, so I really don't want to admit the latter. If I do, then I'll probably die at 40 at this rate. I'm fairly certain that I've had at least some sort of digestive problem at every point in my young life-- I've just dealt with it, ignored it, suffered through it for twenty some odd years. It's kind of like the way I grew up in a town full of cemeteries: I just thought it was normal. I thought everyone's hometown was like that.
I thought it was normal for me to have all these stomach problems. It didn't help that my mother kind of used the doctor as a threat, rather than help. "What, you want me to take you to the doctor? You want me to take you to the hospital?" But not in a helpful, nurturing way. More in a, "If you don't stop whatever you're doing, I'll take you to the hospital and expose you for a liar, and they'll poke you with things and you won't like it" sort of way. I don't REALLY think she meant it that way, and it's not like I would rationally and intelligently give her a list of my daily symptoms. I would act out and do weird stuff, because I was a child and didn't know any better. She probably never even knew about half of my stomach problems.
In any case, I always said "No" when I should have been saying, "YES, please, take me to the doctor! It's not normal to have daily stomachaches!"
And as time goes on, I'm constantly finding new things that I can't consume. I'm still not 100% about the lactose situation-- I'm starting to wonder if what I perceive as lactose-intolerance is actually a combination of other food problems/allergies. My latest is a fear of type 2 diabetes. My dad has it, he was diagnosed a year or two ago. It would explain a lot of random symptoms I have. I obviously also have problems with self-diagnosis...
But I can't eat greasy foods. I think that I can't eat certain dairy products. Too much caffeine will do me in. Herbal tea is out. Onions are a no-no. Alcohol isn't a great idea. Even chocolate sometimes doesn't agree with me. I can't drink orange juice really (even the low acid stuff gives me a bit of a problem). And I'm really starting to wonder if I can't have sugar, or if I have some sort of problem with some sugars and not others... I don't know. I'm waiting for the day when all I can have is bread and water. It'll happen, mark my words! And then I'll become allergic to water. What then, I ask you? I'll probably explode, because most of the human body is composed of water. Good!
In any case, I probably should go to the doctor to have these things properly checked out. Especially since things have gotten a little weirder lately. At least I can have a test for lactose intolerance, and find out if that's really it or not. It's just so hard to get that connection out of my head, that "doctor=bad" concept. I'm not actually afraid of the doctor like some are, I just have this idea that being unhealthy is something I can control or that I'm a bad person if I have to go to the doctor for something. It's funny the things we learn based on our environments growing up.
What an odd case of nature and nurture; Possibly inheriting certain illnesses from my parents, versus learning the idea that going to the doctor is something to be avoided. Except that I want to be healthy... so here we are, facing another paradox. With a hammer, and a box of matches.
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