Tired.

My stomach is aching.
It hasn’t been this way for months.
I can feel every tiny thing that I consume, struggle to digest in my stomach.
The medication is meant to work.
Why isn’t it working?
How did my stomach just… change?
I think back to my diet over the past few days.
I must’ve slipped up, I must’ve slipped up somewhere.
But I can’t find where I went wrong.
It bubbles and gurgles away; bile rising to the back of my throat.
I sit outside for air, I drink digestive tea, I chew Peppermint Gum, I take anti-nausea medication, anti-stomach cramping medication… anything and everything.
The feeling doesn’t change.

I scroll away at Social Media, feeling further isolated from society.
Birthdays being celebrated under the stars,
Falling in love and going on romantic dates,
Exploring the world,
Working for great companies,
Absorbing knowledge through courses,
Tasting new cultures,
Engagements, weddings, children,
Conversing with friends over coffee…
And meanwhile, I am stuck here… alone.

This illness has stolen everything from me.
I am forced to cancel on people for gatherings because I am too unwell to attend.
I feel an anxiety when my symptoms are at their worst – I feel embarrassed to be in public. I feel embarrassed to feel nauseous, and have to hold onto someone for balance support.
On the other hand, people let me down too.
They aren’t willing to negotiate. They don’t understand that I’m unable to do “normal” things anymore.
“If you’re too sick, then don’t come because I can’t put up with it”
“Lets go for dinner at this place… oh, you can’t. Maybe you can come with us when you are better”
Is it selfish of me to ask for these people to squeeze me into their routine, and alter the program a bit?
So, I can’t go out for dinner or ‘out’.
I can’t move from my bed.
But, you can come and sit with me for an hour?
Talk to me?
How silly, Cass.
People won’t alter their lives just because you are sick.
I was forced to stop working and studying, so my days are filled with mindless television and the struggle to walk to the bathroom and back.
I am unable to drive, and most days I am unable to look at my laptop screen or mobile.
I sit here and watch the sky change colour from dawn till dusk, and repeat.
Meanwhile, everyone is off living their lives.
I am forgotten.
My sibling works now, as do my parents. They are rarely home, and IF they are, we usually have appointments to attend. They do so much for me – their entire life has been revolved around me. When they decide to go out with friends, on days like today, I nod my head in agreeance.
I will be fine on my own, I tell them.
I lie.

Inside, I’m crying out that I need them to stay. Stay here so I am not tempted to leave.

No. They need to go. I need them to live their lives, even though mine has stopped.
On the days like this, where the depression swallows me, I picture my lifeless body hanging from the outdoor gazebo.
Why me? I ask. What did I do?
They can’t fix this, nor the Doctors.
Nobody truly understands, no matter how much I explain it to them.
Nobody understands until they go through it.
I rewrite my Goodbye letters over and over.
They are not perfect yet.
I’m tired of feeling, of being hopeful, of listening to advice, of fighting my own body. I’m tired of being told what to do, what to try. I’m tired of missing out. I’m tired of falling behind.
I’m so tired.