Self-Esteem.

Something that I haven't really consciously thought about in awhile is my self-esteem, inner and outer. Considering that I've never had any confidence in myself in terms of appearance, intelligence, etc., I clearly have problems with my self-esteem and how I view myself.

Having an eating disorder from 12-15 didn't help either. Anorexia is horrendous when it comes to self-image, you always see yourself +20 pounds whenever you look in a mirror.

Luckily, having gastroparesis is an excellent way to kill any inclination of an eating disorder, and is probably the only silver lining of having this condition. Once you physically lose the ability to eat, not by choice of mind but by choice of stomach, all you want to do is eat. It's absolutely insane what a mental change I have made in terms of food.

Through college I still followed habits from my anorexic past-coffee in the morning, eating only once a day, refusing just about everything. Until I started puking every day. After the idea that daily vomiting was a definite possibility for the rest of my life sank in, every iota of my anorexia disappeared. All I want to do for the majority of every single day of my life is stuff my face. With things besides gerber graduates entrees.

However, the loss of anorexic tendencies did not lead to an increase in my self-esteem. If anything, GP has worsened my self-esteem by a great deal. For one thing, it's hard to feel good about yourself when you feel nauseated, or after puking. (Hunger pangs mixed with nausea, I've deduced, are the worst possible combination of feelings you can have. I don't wish it upon anyone. ANYONE.)

In addition, GP is an unfavorable condition because people tend to think you have bulimia when you first discover you have the condition. Running to the bathroom every meal? Of course the gossip mills are going to run with that.

Being labeled with another eating disorder after conquering anorexia is one of the driving reasons as to why I kept at my diagnostic progress. I was tired of being labeled as 'that girl with the eating disorder.' No one wants to be that girl.

GP also reduces self-esteem in more ways than I can list--including lack of personal care (NOT hygiene, I shower daily. I mean going outside the house not looking like you just rolled out of bed) and consistent bloating due to my metabolism, which has decided to stop working completely just so I can keep down and use as many calories as possible.

Altogether, gastroparesis is not an illness that aids in increasing confidence about yourself. I think one of the hardest parts of having a chronic condition, besides the ability to recognize that in order to thrive, you have to beat the disease, and not let it beat you, is the complete lack of self-confidence I have for myself.

As the boyfriend once said, "You walked around like you didn't give a fuck what anybody thought about you."

I walk like that because I don't want to be noticed. I don't want to KNOW what other people are thinking about me, especially on bad days where I feel and look awful. I walk like that because of an absence of self-confidence, not an overload of it.

I will continue crossing my fingers until my GI doctor visit next Monday. I keep hoping everything will fall into place once I can eat somewhat normally and don't spend the majority of my evenings wrapped around my toilet.

I'm honestly riding on this stomach medication. I can't think of what will happen if it doesn't help--and I don't want to think about tubes through my intestines yet.

But I do know that my self-esteem has been steadily deteriorating. And that as is, right now, I don't like myself.

I'm crossing my fingers for change. Because I need to regain the ability to like myself.

I will say though, as a complete sidenote--I've become obsessed with doing my nails. After all, it's not like I have much to do during the day besides continually avoid my calculus textbook. For the record, anti-anxiety pills kill any desire to bite your nails, so I am now the quite the manicurist. I've already mastered the basic french, so now I'm on to glitter, because I do enjoy sparkly things. So, after two hours of serious, frustrating effort, voila!



Like I said before, I really need to start studying calculus. This is the epitome of too much free time. But with GP comes boredom, and thus my newly marketable nail design talent.

"But you don't look sick..."

I honestly wish I could have a dollar for every time someone has said that to me within the last two years...I could probably pay off all of my medical bills by myself if that option was a possibility.

One of the most difficult things about GP is the explanation of what's wrong with you. First of all, people don't tend to think that stomachs can just stop working, and if they have any iota of an idea that stomach paralysis is possible, they don't realize how the hell that would affect a person's entire body, as well as mind.

Just because someone appears to be healthy doesn't mean they are. Personally, I try my best to look somewhat 'normal' whenever I go to the grocery store, 7-11, etc because I always feel as if people can tell that something medically isn't quite right with me, but don't want to ask. This may be because I have lost a significant amount of weight since starting to follow GP diet guidelines.

Or perhaps because lately, I carry around an aura of depression. Just one of unhealth, of general unwellness. but I digress.

The most common time I actually have to explain that I have GP is at the grocery store, go figure. Not having a job right now is helping in terms of lack of explanation to the general public, but there are some random people at various locales who ask about my hospital bracelet, skinniness, etc.

But, the grocery store is the most common place. This is because what appears to be a 17 year old girl is buying baby food in bulk at the self checkout.

I get one of two reactions at the grocery store--the judgmental "I can't believe I'm seeing a teen mom at my local Vons!" glares from people, and the look of general confusion-"why is this teenager buying baby food?"

First of all, I look very young for my age. I'm 24, and I still get carded for tobacco on a daily basis because apparently I don't look like I should have a driver's license. So I can imagine why it'd be weird to see me at the store, but still. Being on the side of the curious stares is not a pleasant experience and really expedites my grocery shopping

Usually, people don't comment. But more times than I've expected, either a random person in line or one of the checkstand people makes a comment. Some sort of "how's the kid?" begins the conversation, to which I always reply, "No kid, just a chronic illness."

This logically follows into a quick synopsis of what GP is and how it affects me on a daily basis, all before I can swipe my debit card.

I usually launch into some sort of a Wikipedia-esque discussion of what GP is and what it does to you. After I inevitably tell whatever person that I throw up at least once a day is when I receive the requisite "But you don't look sick!"

You have no idea how much I absolutely DESPISE hearing that. Instead of, "you don't look sick," why not, "Wow, congratulations on not disintegrating from starvation! Keep that weight up!"

Obviously that statement is completely idealistic and I'd never expect to hear it from anyone. But it is a daily battle trying to keep my weight to some semblance of normal and it is incredibly irritating to have to hear day after day that I don't look sick, so therefore I shouldn't act like it.

I always fantasize and play the 'what-if' game with these people--"Imagine if you had the flu every single day, but without the knowledge that you will feel better after a few days of hell," or "Try eating 200 calories a day for three days and then imagine how you'd feel about trying to go through a typical day in your life."

People in general don't understand that either. It's very frustrating. They know what it feels like to have the flu. They know what it feels like to be famished-but usually only after skipping one meal. Try skipping everything but your morning coffee everyday and you'll see how I feel like.

The conversation always ends with some sort of generalized "well, I hope you feel better!"

...thanks, random people at grocery store. It's a nice sentiment, but it really doesn't do anything for me, especially since I "look so healthy." Great!

I wish that, with even one person, that GP would sink in with them. People try to understand cancer, AIDS, other chronic illnesses, but GP is a relatively unknown one and some actual awareness beyond a five minute conversation would do wonders for GP research.

The point is, if you see someone buying baby food, don't judge, especially if they appear young. And if someone tells you they are sick, don't brush it off. Respect them, tell them you're sorry, and to keep your head up.

That's all people with GP need-a positive wish that our lives will improve. Think about it next time you're at the grocery store--4% of the population has idiopathic GP, and even more have diabetic related GP--there's a possibility someone there at your store is suffering.

Just tell us to keep being positive, because on good days, those words will hold. And on the bad days? They'll keep us going.

The Building of Frustration: A Case Study

It simply amazes me how the meds I'm on affect my mood. With all the mood swinging I still have to endure until the drugs in my body decide to harmonize, I feel like I'm simultaneously PMS-ing and going through menopause. This isn't fair. Although I feel as if the hot flashes are due more to a lack of ventilation in my apartment than the neurons in my body running awry.

Case in point. I woke up fairly early this morning, like I have been for the past week. I haven't been sleeping that great, waking up 2-3x a night and watching P-90X informercials until my body graciously grants me sleep again.

In addition, I have now apparently become the lightest sleeper in the country. I don't know how this shift occurred, because I used to possess the innate ability to be literally dead to the world until my body thought it was ready for the next day. Usually, this was around 12 or so hours of mostly uninterrupted bliss. (My mother seemed to be the only element against this plan).

So, needless to say, I am not a morning person as of late. I tend to get really frustrated, especially if the boyfriend is still sleeping and I feel bad for doing things like flushing the toilet (NOW WORKING BY THE WAY, THANKS BF + UNCONVENTIONAL CLEARING METHODS) and making coffee, because I have assured myself that I will always wake him up doing so, even though he DOES possess my former sleeping abilities.

However, it seems like the abilify I'm on does help in the morning. Abilify, a cigarette and coffee together tend to make my mornings pretty happy-go-lucky as of late. Granted I am supposed to be re-teaching myself calculus right now but as calculus tends to make me cry and/or throw things, I don't think it's in my best interest to be attacking a task that fucks with my neurons anymore than the present.

Not this morning. This morning, I woke up queasy, 7-11 ran out of pumpkin spice creamer, and I've been messing around with this pinterest gadget on my page for a good 4 or so hours. And am still queasy despite all of the anti-nausea meds I'm on. For some reason, today, my body just decided that it didn't want today to happen. And its punishing me for living through it.

I can tell you right now, the trip to the grocery store seems incredibly difficult. The appeal of doing absolutely nothing besides rewatching Sex and the City reruns all day far exceeds any sort of productivity.

Add that feeling to my general irritation of the day and predictably, I'm going to curl in a ball with my baby blanket and glare at the BF's food as if it is responsible for how i feel.

Here's to (perhaps!) no puking (or just no eating) tonight!

Why, Life?

I don't know where I've accessed this massive compilation of karma, but karma's a bitch and it enjoys personal torture on a daily basis.

Boyfriend comes home, sees toilet [I have resolutely refused to touch the toilet after my almost-brush-with-death-and-lysol earlier this week], and instantly decides that since I am of female persuasion that I have never touched a plunger, much less attempted to fix a toilet before. In all fairness, I have more toilet-problem history than the average person, my little sister used to clog mine up all the time through a variety of methods so I was taught to wield the plunger early in life.

However, boyfriend did not agree with this, and solely based on my status as a female (ok in all fairness, I can't do anything for my car for shit. I don't even know how to fill my tires up, but still) decided that he, as MAN of the house, was capable of defeating the toilet.

Boy was he wrong.

As expected, the toilet decided that it was time for the Great Flood of 2012 to occur (I guess we are three months away from certain death, thanks Mayans), and of course I had to clean it up. Mostly because I am a germ freak when it comes to toilets and all that entails, partially because I consider myself a super cleaner after years of "you can't go see your friends/go to a movie/go to swim practice/read Harry Potter until the bathroom/floors/kitchen etc. are clean."

So, here I am, still feeling as if I am literally covered in e. coli, and frustrated. The frustration? Because I still don't have complete control of my emotions yet, which means I wouldn't consider myself mentally stable yet, which means another step backwards in terms of getting my stomach medication. I am not kidding you, this is beginning to feel like the never ending journey. I feel like every time I take a few steps forward, some physical or mental obstacle comes along to fuck it all up and push me back.

I am not kidding you, I was either Hitler in my past life, or all of my 'I'm a terrorist' comments are catching up to me (I'm sure my house is bugged--it's fun having a birthday on 9/11 and having a pakistani last name. Thanks, Bush & the Patriot Act, I really enjoy using my car to go to Texas instead of flying because apparently there is bomb residue on my graphing calculator. Right.

Anyway, I don't know the source of this karma, or whether I simply have bad luck, but I am tired, hungry, nauseated, and frustrated. I honestly find it kind of impressive to experience all those feelings at once. Hunger + Nausea is possibly the most contradicting, confusing feeling in the world. It isn't fair when half your stomach is telling you to stuff your face, while the other half is all "try it, bitch. just try me."

I guess it's just one of those days.

Productivity & The Snowball Effect

Today, with my new-found energy due to the so-far-faultless abilify, I actually had the ability to go out and take care of an errand or two. What i didn't expect was the snowball effect on this particular day, snowball here meant as 'ever increasing tasks to complete with an ever decreasing level of energy'. I do apologize for the graphical interpretation of my variable energy levels, but I have been on campus far too long today.

What started out as a simple task at Academic Advising turned into a two hour free for all drive-sprint around campus (i feel bad for the one cop who sat at the round-about at the entrance of campus who saw me drive by about 7 times within two hours, who gave me strange looks and an all knowing "i know your left tail light is out, just try taking a left, bitch" glare), which involved multiple instances of stair climbing, running 100+ yard sprints in order to avoid parking tickets (I did! At every place I parked! I never get this lucky, I have 97 parking tickets listed in the UC System!), and a necessity to remain in a good mood no matter what occurred.

I could feel my mood start to plummet at around 12:30, about an hour and a half into my UCSB unwanted cardio-excursion, but fortunately the abilify, or my own damned motivation to finish out my day so I could collapse in bed kept me up and going.

I hit the grocery store and headed home, prepared for a blissful afternoon of rewatching episodes of 'Awkward.' on MTV and doing crossword puzzles. This sad, wishful thinking of course sent me home with a horrific batch of karma, which led to another two full hours of cardio! (Not that I'm against exercise normally, I was a pool rat for a long, long period of my life, but at this point I have to fight to save calories, and losing them means another week of "no shopping for you until you fit a size 0 again")

Today's karma hit me as soon as I got home, wherein I quickly found out the toilet was clogged (We throw the dog's crap in the toilet if he goes in the house, with paper towels. BAD IDEA. Seriously, don't ever do this unless you want to spend a half hour of your life on your knees covered in lysol and toilet water.)

Being the shining example of brilliant common sense, my first response was to flush said devil toilet, and attempted plunging it. Hello, waves of toilet water cascading onto the bathroom floor.

And of course, once I got started scrubbing down the bathroom, I figured I might as well clean everything else that needed immediate attention-the dishes (which I have to do in the shower by the way, I don't have a kitchen sink in my shoebox apartment), the bunny's cage, the overflowing freezer full of ice which refuses to defrost. (I have to beat the shit out of the ice box with a hammer to get the fridge to shut sometimes.)

Hence, the snowball effect. And I think it's fair to say that this snowball decided to roll over me, roll back, and lay on top of me. Because I am dead. Three letter crossword clues are defeating me. The idea of getting up to get a gatorade? too far.

I really need to invest in some type of drink delivery system for myself. Or, you know, clean more often than when a, something smells, or b, the toilet decides it has a mind of its own.

Either way, I'm dead on my feet. Here's to crossing fingers and a good karma debt-maybe i'll keep down my baby food tonight!

Hope...?

Today, I woke up today with somewhat of a new, well, more forgotten, feeling. Today, I woke up with a little bit of optimism. I don't know what it is, whether it's the pumpkin spice creamer in my coffee bringing fall along, the satisfaction of being able to pay another medical bill, [of which i have approximately a grand yet to still pay off, thank you ER fees] or the possibility of my grades from summer session B finally being released, i'm in a pretty good mood.

I'm hoping this means that the abilify that I've added to my current medical regime is working. Supposedly, once it starts working, a few days after beginning it (which is positively glorious, in terms of medical stabilizing time, my anti-depressant took like 8 weeks to settle in before I stopped acting like a hormonal psychopath), it's supposed to give you some energy in the morning, and boost whatever isn't working with your original anti-depressant. so, here i am, with a bit of hope.

Even though I barfed three times last night, (although in all fairness, after my second puke, it being 1am and nothing else open, my third puke due to dominos bread bites delivery was TOTALLY my fault. but they were so good, it was ok), I have a slight spring in my step today. I feel like possibilities have made themselves available in my eyes again, and i like it.

Even though my biggest plan today consists of cleaning out the bunny cage, it's something. don't knock on whatever sunshine i find, the idea makes me happy. Why? Because I actually have the desire to do SOMETHING.

I hope this is abilify's actions, and not just a random good day on my part. Crossing my fingers like you wouldn't believe--if this stabilizes my head out, I get to try a stomach med again! and maybe eat something besides turkey rice entrees that apparently my mother used to feed to the dog when he got sick!

Like I've been telling my parents, all I want for Christmas is to be able to eat a BLT again. Although this might not happen still, with all the medical aid available in the world, maybe I'll get to eat something besides my trusty gerber goodness for a chance this christmas.

Last Tuesday Night...

Last night was not a fun one in terms of GP. However, I have made a discovery that I think will help in terms of one of the three sessions of puking i did last night.

The discovery: If i take all my meds within the same thirty minute period and then try to eat, I will throw up, and I will throw up medicine at the end of said puke. For the record, that's the worst part of throwing up for me. Undigested food is nothing compared to the half-digested stomach acid/medication i get to puke.

Currently, my nightly routine is as follows.
1. Take anxiety and anti-nausea pill.
2. AT LEAST ONE HOUR LATER [thanks to new discovery] take anti-depressant, which also is helpful in that it increases appetite/stops nausea. I swear to god, I don't know how its even possible for me to throw up with THREE different medications in my system claiming to have 'anti-emetic' effects.
3. Wait a half hour for anti-depressant appetite to appear.
4. Attempt at eating.
5. Around 90% of the time, I puke every time.
6. Repeat attempted eating and puking until I finally can fall asleep.

As you can see, not the most pleasant cycle, and certainly not helpful in terms of my social ineptitude. This is where I am hoping having an actual stomach medication to un-paralyze my apparently retarded organ.

In all fairness though, I do some of this damage to myself, albeit unintentionally. Problem is, my stomach is essentially non-existent in terms of size, thanks partially to the anorexia of my past which continues to haunt me, as well as about two or so years of puking up everything i ate.

Of course I'm aware of this, but once I finally have an appetite, all I want to do is eat! So I stuff my face to the best of my ability, (keep in mind that used in this capacity, 'stuffing my face' equates to about 400 calories) and then suffer the consequences in the toilet bowl a half hour later. Almost a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts, no?

This is where, unfortunately, I'm banking on the stomach medication to help. If I have the ability to eat during the day, so that I'm not starving by 9pm, I think it'll greatly reduce my current state of barfing.

Unfortunately, due to the medications listed in the steps above that are still wreaking havoc on my poor brain, I don't get to have my reglan/domperidone for another month. And people wonder why I'm depressed?

And let me just say that as a side note, I have followed the guidelines for my nightly eating to a tee. Trust me, before I got officially diagnosed, I would eat whatever the hell I wanted (soup, sandwiches, cookies from ralphs that are amazing and that i'm going to greatly miss for the rest of my life) and then puke and give up for the day. I give myself major props for adopting and kind of actually enjoying my baby food diet.

I attempted to branch out last night and go 'buck wild,' as described by the boyfriend, and try some 'cup o noodles.' needless to say, this is why I puked MULTIPLE times last night and for all you out there with GP....BAD DECISION.

There really isn't a point, or message behind this post. I'm just in a rather whiny, pity-myself-because-jesus-christ-all-i-really-want-is-animal-style-fries-from-in-n-out-and-i'm-stuck-here-with-grape-juice mood, and felt this rant was appropriate. Plus, the boyfriend leaves for the weekend to go see his family, so I'm stuck here alone for the next few days. So thus i shall lament. [well, mostly lament. i am excited to have full, no-guilt control over the tv for the next few days].

Here's to a night free of puking!

Food.

Something that I haven't quite touched on yet is what, if actually kept down, I eat on a daily basis.

My eating habits have always been strange, especially after a stint with anorexia about ten years ago. Couple that with swim team and lifeguarding throughout high school, and you'll find that I don't tend to eat like a normal person.

For one thing, I've never been a big breakfast person. I don't like to wake up and go to school, work, etc. with a heaviness in my stomach. Thus, as soon as I learned to operate a vehicle somewhat correctly, my morning routine began with a starbucks frappucinno, every day.

Although most people can't seem to survive without developing irritability/general out-of-it-syndrome between meals, I weigh about 110 pounds soaking wet and had already trained my body in years of "it's not six pm yet, so you aren't hungry."

Thus, I would drink my frappucinno and look forward to my next meal, dinner. Which is where I would obtain about 70% of the calories I needed for the day. Simple, no? This system worked for years, and I can tell you now, looking back, that the ability to stuff my face with no repercussions is one i sorely miss.

Since the introduction of my GP, I have tried multiple methods of keeping calories in my body. Luckily (Unluckily?) my stomach has shrunk to the size of a lap-band patient, so my metabolism has decided to say fuck it, and hold on to every calorie it can.

Method one was simple: eat soup, eat a bunch of snack-y type crap, and try not to throw up. success rate: about 3%. (I did throw up the 3% of kept down food the next morning, for the record. and after a awhile of this consistently occurring, I became more amused with the fact that I could recognize what I ate for dinner--8 hours previous--than horrified that I was once again barfing.)

Method two is even simpler: don't eat, and you won't throw up. However, the whole starving myself thing was a nod to my anorexic past and although I still have the ability to go a few days after eating, now i'm OLD so I actually suffer for it.

Method three is the current one in progress, and it seems to work out about 25% of the time. This is an improvement, believe me. I have christened method three the "Baby Food Diet."


Looks pretty tasty, right?

Although initially deterred by the idea of eating pureed beets out of a jar, I visited Vons and was met with an epiphany: Gerber makes baby food that isn't in a jar! And thus, I introduce to you the line of Gerber Graduates baby food, which in all actuality, is pretty tasty.

On an average night, I'll try to keep down one of the baby food entree portions (can't each the vegetable portion, I've puked carrots at 8am before and do not plan on repeating that instance ever again). And to snack on? One or two of these:



Let me precede this with the fact that i HATE yogurt. and melted cheese. and anything with that sort of creamy texture. It absolutely disgusts me. However, these freeze dried yogurt drops are pretty freaking fantastic and also have a whole bunch of vitamins. If it's a good night and I'm not looking towards the toilet yet, I can also manage to keep down the Gerber snacks 'baby cheetos,' which totally satisfy my munchie cravings.

Pair that along with a cup of coffee with peppermint creamer in the morning, (I can't drink my frappucinno anymore, alas, it is too filled with fat and dairy), and that's my daily eating experience. My current goal is 'no puking for one week.' still yet to happen.

I think the main problem I'm facing still is that when I get around to eating dinner, all I want to do is stuff my face. So, I binge on my baby food, my stomach tells me to fuck off, repeat cycle. I know that GP 101 states to have smaller, more frequent meals a day but considering I actually like to do things with my day as a generality, I don't usually enjoy eating an applesauce, barfing it up 20 minutes later, and then heading back into work.

So, I guess it is an ongoing cycle in terms of how I'm going to keep myself fed. Right now, my hopes are pinned down on finally getting a pro-kinetic stomach med that works. But until then, let me feast upon my baby food!

Two interesting side notes on the subject of baby food:
1. I have gotten countless judgemental looks at the grocery store while attempting to purchase my baby food. This is further exemplified by the fact that I look like a fifteen year old, and do get carded for tobacco/asked if I'm excited for prom on a daily basis. People, this is not fair. I am not with child, I am eating this crap myself, and I'm going to enjoy it. Luckily, "chronic illness" tends to make people shut up in terms of judging apparent teenagers purchasing multiple bags of baby yogurt drops.

2. Once I finally am through the worst of this GP mess, I'm totally going to create a new dieting system. You know the Atkins diet? Meet the Baby Food Diet. I don't know how filling my meals are relatively, considering that like half a juice box fills me up for four hours (oh, how I loathe early satiety), but seriously, baby food has like no calories in it. One entree=100 calories. One bin of baby cheetos=150 calories (for six servings!!!!) I always get people asking me how I stay so thin, and have decided to just tell people that I follow the Gerber Graduates plan of weight loss.

I'll get back to you when I'm a millionaire.