"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.

Support Systems.

Support systems are a funny thing. Whenever I think about a support system, I tend to visualize a person or a group whose purpose is to provide "support" to another person, one with some kind of physical or mental or financial deficit who can rely on said support system to hold them up through whatever crises that person is experiencing.

It's interesting though, because the definition of "support" is vague and cloudy, and definitely changes on a person-to-person basis. For example, one person with GP may want someone there to hold their hair back when they puke, but another may simply want someone to say 'it's ok,' hand them a rag, and rub their back.

The point is, it's difficult to find a support system in terms of being someone who needs one, because in order to have one you have to define what kind of support you actually want.

Which I consider personally to be the most difficult aspect of what I want from a support system, because my needs tend to vary on a day by day basis depending on how much food I kept down last night, how much sleep I got, etc. I feel bad for the BF and the parents sometimes....I can be fairly high maintenance when it comes to what I want from the people who are close to me.

When it comes to my friends, its a difficult process to support me because of geographical distance. It's hard to be there for someone when you're 300 miles away and can't really do much more than a 'sorry' and 'hope you feel better tomorrow.' However, it is appreciated so, so much on my end because it means that despite the chaos and difficulties in their lives, they're thinking about me and wishing me well. When someone isn't physically present, that's the best you can ask for, just someone to listen to you whine and sympathize.

When it's someone who isn't geographically distant, this is where the definition of a support system becomes more variable. I understand how hard it must be to be around someone who pukes constantly and can't really do much, (I mean shit, today is a particularly bad day, I couldn't even go to my hair appointment because I feel so close to vomiting. However, I've definitely noticed a correlation between my mental status and my stomach. Bad head days always lead to bad stomach days. I'm scared to eat tonight) and how frustrating it must be to be stuck around someone who is struggling just to survive.

But this is where the support system is really necessary. Having GP is ridiculously hard and ridiculously debilitating in terms of survival. Throwing up day after day, facing each morning with fear of how the day will play out instead of rejoicing that you're alive for another day...just living and wanting to wake up for the next day is hard when you have GP.

Especially when you have GP and are still waiting to start a treatment that may or may not work. It's incredibly difficult facing these odds every day and still have a desire to fight, to live.

This is where that support system comes in. Because you need someone there to get you going, to tell you that things will get better and you won't always feel this shitty. Because without a support system all you will do is wallow in pity. And perhaps that is part of what a support system is as well.

The point is, it's difficult to have a support system. It's hard to describe what would make you feel better when all of the negative odds in the world are pressing down against you. It's hard to say "oh, a hug will help," but the next day it may not. The feelings you have with GP change on a daily basis, and it's the responsibility of a good support system to understand that and be flexible with how they support you.

Always have someone there for you, because on most days with GP, you can't be there for yourself.

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.

Financial Woes & Anxiety Attacks

Despite a win from Stanford last week against USC and a well-deserved A+ in my environmental studies movies class, I knew I had to lose out somewhere.

and that somewhere was my credit report.

Now, I have received a few F's in my day, mainly during my 'party rock, YOLO, DGAF about school' period of my life, but those were always of the academic variety. This is the first time I've ever gotten in F in a nonacademic sense...it honestly makes me feel like a failure as an adult. First goal of adulthood, build good credit. My progress towards said goal, nonexistent.

However, I will say that in my defense, the collections that I owe which are ruining my credit on a demonic, daily basis are all medical. They run back to about two and a half years ago, which coincidentally, was when all of my stomach problems started. I had probably six to ten hospital visits within that time period, all from stomach-related problems, and the majority of them pre-GP-diagnosis.

Essentially, I threw up blood pretty often, and as the sight of some fluid you DID NOT IMBIBE shows up in your toilet, it's time to get a needle in the arm and and enough ativan to calm an entire city in time of war.

I was not getting along well with my parents at this point, and due to my own lack of common sense, (I honestly, really have no common sense. I am book smart, attempt to be street smart, but never will I have common sense) I was sending all the bills for these hospital visits to myself, moved, and forgot all about said bills.

Now as I approach the need for financial aid and student loans, these bills have come back to bite me in the ass in a particularly fucked up way. I owe about a grand to several collection agencies. It is so frustrating, honestly, because if I had just sent the bills to my parents, I wouldn't be in the credit shithole I am deeply involved in now.

It's also frustrating because every hospital visit within this time period was a failed one. Not in the sense of basic medical care, I got rehydrated and sent home each time, but in that each time I was admitted, I was released with a different diagnosis. From GERD to possible ulcer, I would certainly be dead right now if I had all of the possible conditions I was diagnosed with.

My personal favorite wrong (and moronic) diagnosis was on March 24 of last year. Doctor comes in, looks at me, and tells me that marijuana was causing all of my stomach problems. It's a condition called 'cannabis hypermyesis syndrome,' which about 8 people on the entire planet have.

That diagnosis was clearly wrong but did get me on the path to finding my GP. So, I guess I'm lucky in that sense. However, the $300 I racked up for that fake diagnosis was not so much appreciated.

So, here I am as an adult, at 24, and I'm stuck and anxiety-ridden. How, when I cannot even work a part time job, am I going to pay off these bills so I can have a decent credit score? Will I even be allowed to take out a student loan?

Cue Panic Attack.

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!