They love you,
You just don’t love yourself.
Experiences change people. Music, movies, books, religion, culture, likes, and even dislikes; it all plays a part in who you are.
Some of my experiences still embrace me, like a bad dream.
I wake up some mornings and feel the fear of my past. The sting of rejection. The loneliness of heart.
The other day, while getting ready for work I was venting frustrations over the various situations the doctors haven’t been able to fix—mainly—my butt. Not to get overly emotional, but Jon made a comment that seriously pissed me off. Something along the lines of, “The meds helped…you just stopped taking it.”
Okay, the “meds” that worked caused my stomach to cramp up. It fixed one issue (sort of) while forcing other parts of me to stop working. In fact, I was crying in pain and bleeding more than normal during bathroom visits.
I made a choice, not him. Me. So then why does he feel slighted?
The diagnosis came 10, almost 11 years ago. When will people trust that I know and understand my own body? Especially when the disease crashed into me long before that.
I have spent entirely too much of my life being told I was making it up, faking it, or not trying hard enough. Hearing Jon sound like them–all of the people I have fought against–caused a visceral reaction.
Even knowing the depths of his love and his genuine concern, I spent the day in a piss-poor, bitter mood.
No matter how much time has elapsed, I am still that broken little girl. That child, standing in a field outside her parents’ house talking to the cow next door. (I named him Prince and I still think about him from time to time.) He disappeared one day. I have always imagined he was sent off on some great cow adventure. I know better; I have always known better.
“Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.”
I am constantly in a state of unease, worried that any misstep will take me right back. That another surgery, hospital stay, ileostomy bag, or bowel resection is imminent. It hurts to feel this way; to constantly be looking over my shoulder for a danger that exists inside my own body, inside my soul.
I keep hoping that one day I will let it all go. That the walls I have built and fortified will come crashing down. I want the gray clouds of long ago to dissipate. I don’t want to fear the rearview any more.
I want…I want to love myself.
Love myself the way that others do.