I was recently pretty sick and though the majority of my symptoms are gone, I still don’t feel 100% like myself. That’s probably due to the root reason for my illness. My mind. Not that I’m saying I’m sick in the head…wait, maybe that is what I’m saying….
So, for as long as I can remember, I’ve had a sensitive stomach. It wasn’t until a few years ago that my weak tum-tum got labeled as irritable, as if it were a fussy infant or a grouchy elderly gentleman.
After a series of tests, from food allergies to the most undesirable ‘oscopies, my condition got me lumped into the Irritable Bowel Syndrome category. I say lumped, because it seems like this diagnosis is what you get when there’s absolutely no reason for your symptoms, and yet, there they are. Basically, what it boiled down to was that it was all in my head. Now, as a long-time sufferer from this apparently mentally-driven illness, THAT IS THE LAST THING YOU WANT TO BE TOLD. It sounds messed up, but you almost hope that they find an ulcer just so you have a reason for feeling so awful. It’s not like the Dr. said verbatim, “You’re making this up in your head,” but it still felt like it was my fault.
Anxiety has plagued me as far back as the single digits, with depression joining the party in my teens, and apparently, when it runs amuck, it can cause major irritability in your guts. So, I literally worry myself sick. And trying not to, only makes me think about it more, and makes the rumbly in my tumbly rage on.
Aside from taking more pills, there doesn’t seem like a way to escape myself. I’ve considered meditation and heard good things about it. Maybe I’ll give it a try. I just can’t imagine turning off the unending movie in my head.
I know I’m not alone, even if the subject matter is a little, um “unmentionable.” Well, I’m mentioning it. And not like the cute little cartoon bowel in the commercial,
like the raging, angry, week-ruining, temper-tantrum-throwing jerk that it is.
The reason for this most recent flare-up? Well, I’m working up the courage to write it down…because once it’s down in writing, it becomes more than just a random, fleeting thought zipping down the interstate of my mind. Next rest stop: 50 miles. Uh-oh.