#i just wish people could look at this logically instead of being so chronically online all the time

[brotherofbagels]

There needs to be more nuance in how people view the situation but the internet doesn't allow for that.

[adobe-outdesign]

A letter to Grant

Anon:

Hey. The other day I sent a message to your… uh, God (not the Jewish God, I mean the sicko who decided that chronic depression should be one of your defining traits) to see if you had some of the same feelings I do. You do. I’ve felt a connection to you for a while, and it is 3 AM in my timezone and I can’t sleep. I guess I’ll tell you about a little dilemma I’m having right now.

My Rover group is getting gun permits this. I suggested it. I suggested it because I want to make sure I have a way out for when my life falls apart.

I’ve dealt with bouts suicidal thought for a little over two years, and attempted twice in that time, although my first attempt was laughably impotent and I’m not sure I can even call it an attempt (apparently people don’t just get over their fear of heights randomly for no reason. I basically stood there half an hour but couldn’t make myself jump). The second time I actually did hurt myself. Thankfully no one found out how.

The thing is, both of those times, it wasn’t because my life had fallen into an irreparable state. I was just in acute distress. I’ve had a lot of periods when I’ve told myself, “no. Not yet. I’m staying alive and petting every dog and sucking up every undeserved drop of my parents’ love until I don’t have a choice. Not yet.” But when I have a gun, I only need to get tempted and do it once and I’ll be dead. I’m kind of scared that I’ll off myself before it’s time. On the other hand, both of my attempts were from before I decided what my time would be.

I guess, how do you deal with your bouts of suicidal thought? Your God (the sicko, not the Jewish one) said that you just don’t have any energy when you’re low enough to consider suicide. Do you have any other, uh… coping mechanisms? When it happens to me, it’s less like exhaustion with life and more like panic that it’s going to fall apart.

I’ve thought about it, and I think what I might do is keep the gun at my parents’ house. That way, I won’t be able to get at it on a whim. I go there two or three weekends a month (I’m a second-year university student and live 90 minutes away) and I’m rarely miserable when I’m there, so I won’t use it until it’s time.

Good plan? Bad plan? To be clear, I’m going to do it regardless, once I fail out of university. I’m just not cut out for life. I’m autistic and my parents think I’m one of the useful, functioning ones, but I don’t think I agree. I’m pathetic and a freak and I have to make conscious effort to act like a normal human. I only have one friend in this entire city because I don’t know how to do people. I barely passed my classes last year- in fact I had to change majors because I did fail one class. I remember how disappointed my father was. He tried to hide it, but I could tell. My mother locked herself in her room. Thing is, that was the exact reaction they’d had when my doctor suggested I go on SSRIs in 11th grade. I was their golden girl growing up and don’t know why I can’t excel at university like I did at high school. They really value education. I’m scared that once I fail out of university, it’ll be like they’re only giving me love because it’s expected of them as parents, and deep down they’ll see me as a disappointment and an embarrassment. It honestly felt like that for a little once I started taking meds, but this is different. It’ll change my life forever and they won’t be able to deny what I really am ever again. I’m going to keep giving university my all to put off the inevitable, but when it happens, I’m done. The gun will just cut down on the courage and pain it’ll take. I really wish my parents could have had a normal child. They deserve it.

Taking the gun course makes me feel anxious. I don’t know why. I guess it’s natural. I’m fearing for my life, right?

I know it must be weird, getting this letter. You must have no idea what to do with it. I really wish I could just tell you it’ll get better, but your God, and your God’s God, have pretty much decided that you’re just going to get more and more miserable until you die (and possibly after you die). But hey, maybe I can let you break apart from that by giving you some advice (I’m already sending a letter to a fictional character from, like, 70-80 years ago, so why not throw out logic entirely?). Here’s my advice: start handing out resumes immediately. And I mean today. Tell Lacie and Shawn to do the same. The second you land something else, run from this studio like the hounds of hell are chasing you. You do not deserve what’s coming for you if you don’t. You are a normal, functioning adult, you are highly intelligent and have amounted to something, and you are wanted in the world for who you are. Read that again. You deserve to come out the other side of this and be happy.

Well, thanks for the advice, fictional, non-existent character I decided to write to at 3 AM. I feel like anyone else would read this and either think I’m being stupid and dramatic (I do feel a little silly saying I have suicidal thoughts when I’ve acted on them so little) or would think I have a serious problem. I’m glad you understand me.

To Whom It May Concern.

I probably shouldn’t be answering this during work, but Joey’s out today and this seemed important enough to prioritize over filing taxes.

Unfortunately I don’t know how much life advice I can offer; the last meal I ate was a box of stale crackers, so there are probably a lot of other people that would be better to ask about to how to handle things.

But if you really want to hear from me instead of anyone else... usually I just take a nap, see? Which sounds underwhelming, but it does help, sometimes. Even just eating something or going outside helps, though I can’t always bring myself to do that.

And make sure to keep anything that might be temping out of the house. I don’t keep any old medications in my closet anymore, and the ones I need I keep on the top shelf so I can’t get to them easily, see? Having a gun around is just asking for trouble, and if you’re writing to tell me this then that means you do want to live, at least a little, right? I know it’s tempting, but so is getting drunk on old fashioneds and passing out in an alleyway somewhere. You don’t see me doing that anymore, do you?

You could also try a therapist or a mental health facility. I don’t know, I’ve heard about what happens in those places and honestly I’m not keen on finding out how I’ll be treated there... but you sound like you’re not from here, or at least not from this time, correct? So it might be okay for you, at least.

And I don’t know much about mental conditions; I know math, not psychology. But if you were normal like everyone else, then you wouldn’t be you, would you? You don’t owe your parents anything, it’s their job to love you regardless. At least, I think it should be, though I’m not a parent myself. Maybe one day.

Finally... well, thanks for that. I don’t really know if I agree with all of it... but thank you. I’ve been debating on quitting recently, it might be worth looking into...

Yours,

Grant Cohen

____________________

Suicide prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255

Online chat here.

[healthandfitnessrecipes-blog]

Very Funny, God

https://healthandfitnessrecipes.com/?p=4508

My mom hates it when I rank our pets, but Brooke is my favorite. She is sweet and gentle.

          When I called my newest specialty pharmaceutical company at 4:59 p.m. on Friday (obnoxious, I know) I quickly learned that my insurance would not be covering one of my recently prescribed long-term medications. Thankfully, the very understanding pharmacist I was speaking with adopted a deeper level of patience when I confirmed my 1999 birth year and he realized that I was a fresh soul in the confusing world of medical systems. He supported my decision to table the discussion until after the weekend, in order to allow me time to talk with my mother. On Monday, I found myself jotting down extensive instructions about my newest prescriptions with a shaky hand, teetering in between feeling capable and unprepared. Unless I felt like paying a serious upcharge to have the pharmaceutical company include the necessary supplies, I would need to carve out time to find my way to a drugstore within two or three days. Every time I thought the dramatic warnings about drug interactions and potential side effects were over, there were more of them lurking in the wings, prepared to challenge my sanity and composure.           "Would you like to speak with a pharmacist again?" the second employee on the line asked after I expressed some confusion about one of the medications. Do you have a chaplain available? I wanted to ask her, despite knowing how ridiculous the question would be. My concerns did not stem from a lack of understanding so much as an alarming suspicion that God was leaving me to fend for myself with scribbled down, misspelled prescription names in the margins of my planner. "No thank you," I responded instead, wondering whether or not the slightly broken quality of my voice was transferring through the phone, "but I appreciate it."

          The Monday conversation with the specialty pharmacy was my third or fourth medical phone call of the day, and I had just raced through the hospital app on my phone to grab an appointment off of a waitlist that was released into the portal just minutes earlier. I needed the appointment, yet still felt sick to my stomach about the notion of competing for it with other patients who probably need it just as much. I do not want to participate in this capitalistic system where some people receive prompt treatment and some do not, and at the same time I do not know how to back out of it in the name of these serious ethical concerns when my body is breaking down.           On top of the medical coordination exhaustion, it was a Monday, which is academically my busiest day of the week, packed full of six hours of classes. I had slept very little over the weekend due to back and hip pain, and I did not have the energy to deal with a remote specialty pharmacy. My fatigue this week has been severe, especially in the late afternoons and evenings, to the point where I have had to drag myself to classes, worried that I might collapse or need to lie down along the way. It is so frustrating that I could cry, except that crying would take entirely too much energy. When the fatigue is particularly debilitating, I have to force myself to speak while I hang out with my friends, each syllable adding another weight that crushes into my brain and body. Getting words out feels like it will shut down my system. Given the context, it will not surprise you that on Monday, after I finished up my phone calls and appointment rearranging, I found myself contemplating the concept of Sabbath, and more specifically how the significance of Sabbath changes if you are chronically ill.

Meet Eleanor, aka Ellie, aka Flotus. She is talkative and feisty.

          These were desperate times. I legitimately considered asking a public preacher a few questions about pain and rest and theology when I passed by him while leaving my final class of the day, a sign that I was truly losing my mind. Luckily, I remembered that I did not feel like someone putting their enormous palm on my head and casting out the "demon of arthritis" (it seems that in the context of an autoimmune disease the demon would be me) or insisting that my Planned Parenthood laptop sticker was the reason for my illness, so I decided to continue my policy of never engaging with public preachers under any circumstances. Some questions are less disturbing than the responses they are bound to provoke.           I have a confession to make: in Building Chapels, I mentioned that it makes me uncomfortable when people pray for my physical health, but what I did not consider when writing that post, and what a friend pointed out to me shortly thereafter, is that I do often find myself typing out online prayer requests to a convent (or two... okay three) in the United Kingdom. There is something inexplicably comforting about knowing that there are dozens of holy women praying for me from an ocean away, even when I am not brave enough to ask for those prayers in my own communities.           On Saturday I met a priest in the grocery store after I opened the refrigerator case containing all of the non-dairy milks. I was having a lot of pain, particularly in my back and hips, and I had just submitted a prayer request form to a convent a few hours prior (I feel like I need to clarify that these correspondences are most definitely not an everyday thing). I needed the vanilla almond milk off of the very top shelf for a batch of vegan lemon blueberry muffins I was baking for church, but it was too high for me to reach. The priest spotted my dilemma and quietly offered his much taller stature, retrieving the carton for me and placing it into my shopping basket.           As soon as I saw his clerical collar, I wanted to assure him that the muffins I would bake with the almond milk were for a sacred place full of people who blow me away on the daily with their commitments to love one another and the freeness with which they extend compassion, but that seemed altogether unnecessary, because ultimately he had no stake in the destination of the milk. Furthermore, I think a taller person helping a shorter person in the grocery store is more of an act of human kindness than a priestly obligation. I wonder where these lines are drawn, or if they should even be drawn at all.

Our little dog, Lexi, (featuring my face when Hannah tried to explain the training technique we are using with Dante to me).

          Still, I did think it was appropriate that it was a priest who showed up in the moment I needed help, even for a task without any sort of direct religious component. Very funny, God, I imagined myself saying to the heavens, in the mostly grateful, mildly sarcastic tone of someone who is speaking casually with an old friend. I imagined God telling me that there are more holy people in the world than just the nuns of the UK, and that if I would just be a bit braver I would discover the people all around me who will listen to me in person and who will pray for me just as earnestly. Most people probably do not have to consider whether or not they should branch out from convents located thousands of miles away, but I like to think that we all have our own challenges.           At this point if you were to sum up this post you might observe, You considered asking a specialty pharmacy if they had a chaplain available, you came a hair away from approaching a public preacher with theological questions, you regularly submit online prayer requests to British nuns, and you almost told a priest in the grocery store about the churchly intentions of your almond milk. All of these things are true, though I will note that 3 out of the 4 are almost-experiences, and it is also true that when you put them all together I sound a bit (very?) odd. Perhaps these are the sort of experiences that I should have slowly revealed instead of dumping them all out at once. But I am coping, and sometimes coping follows no particular patterns or logic, and trying to do so within a religious context is extra difficult sometimes and hopefully extra worth it in the end.           I do not encounter chaplains, preachers, nuns, and priests every time I leave my dorm room, but sometimes I do feel as though I cross paths with them more frequently than most of my peers do. Perhaps I am just hyperaware of their presence, wondering if they have some sort of secret to offer, some piece of hope that I am incapable of finding on my own. Perhaps I just find it comforting to know that they have asked themselves the same questions that I do, and that by the very nature of their careers they demonstrate a willingness to look into the face of mystery and uncertainty. It is just now occurring to me that I have been consumed in thinking about my religion lately, finding fragments of it in phone calls with specialty pharmacies, in frantic Mondays that cry out for Sabbath Tuesdays, in teary-eyed walks to the drugstore, in almond milk purchases. Perhaps this heightened awareness of my faith has been obvious based on my last several posts, but it is something that I have just now recognized.

Dante is thriving. His ears are an inspiration. His face could not be cuter. 

          Do you have a chaplain available? It is a question I wish I could ask in almost every setting as I continue learning what it means to love the people around me while being physically bombarded with reminders that I exist within a body that does not love me. Am I my body? Is my body me? These are questions I wish God would answer, so that I could know whether I am fighting against my body or fighting for it. Will everything stop hurting one day? It is a question that I suspect I already know the answer to, but this has yet to stop me from seeking constant confirmation that one day all pain will disappear.           Very funny, God, I think to myself with varying degrees of sarcasm, not really expecting God to take note of either my appreciation or despair. On the rare occasion that I do stop to imagine a response, I see a warm smile, the smile of everyone I already love and all of those I will love wrapped up in one, and I feel a hug that lifts me out of fatigue and pain, its eagerness softened only by a humble sigh of gentleness, and I listen as the words that I have repeatedly used alongside humor transform into a sacred phrase I have been waiting my whole life to hear, "Very funny indeed."

Credits: Original Content Source

[consulting-celiac-in-the-tardis]

5 Secrets on How to Love Your Body with a Chronic Illness

New blog post! When you read magazines or hear TED Talks about self-love or body image, the tips may sound easy, ranging from "Look in the mirror and say you're beautiful" to "Exercise for the endorphins and a reminder of all you can do." When you have a chronic illness, however, learning how to love your body can be more complicated.

I know from personal experience. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia at age 11, and celiac disease at age 17. I've been ten pounds heavier and ten pounds lighter than what I weigh right now. Even harder than the physical changes, though, are the mental ones. How do you love a body that often causes you extreme pain? A body that will bloat without a single logical cause? 

I'm still learning those answers. However, here are five secrets to loving a body with a chronic illness that I've discovered so far. 

1. Stop comparing your body to "normal" counterparts'. 

Honestly, as a female college student, this is one of the hardest tips for me to follow. Every day as I walk across my college campus, I see girls who seemingly have the "normal" body I often crave. They can rock crop tops without worrying about looking five months pregnant. They have the curves I lost from my celiac diagnosis. 

However, the more friends I've made, the more I've realized that even seemingly "perfect" bodies can have their issues. One friend revealed that she is missing toes on her right foot, and always wears closed-toed shoes to cover up her "flaw." Another friend - the girl who appears to "have it all" in terms of beauty, brains and a doting boyfriend - has Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and is often in extreme pain. 

All of this goes to say that comparing your body to other people's won't only make you feel worse, but it is also a false sense of comparison. Just like people don't know I have fibromyalgia or celiac disease by looking at me, I don't know what struggles they're going through. Self-love is an intensely personal process; as such, you should ditch comparing your exterior to anyone else's!

2. Come up with funny names for your flare-ups or symptoms. 

Am I the only one who turns to humor when I'm having a hard day? At least from my conversations with other chronic illness warriors, the answer is no! I was talking to a friend with severe IBS, complaining about waking up like a bloated whale. Her response? "We all have our fluffy days. When I wake up like that, I say Miss Puff has come to visit!" 

Now, anytime my intestines aren't behaving, I credit Miss Puff. It's a way of reminding myself that I shouldn't take life - or my appearance or celiac side effects - too seriously. 

Maybe you say your body is "under construction" on days when you have a jackhammer migraine. Or if you're prepping for your colonoscopy (been there, done that), you can say you're on a "celebrity detox." The nickname is up to you. Just find some way to remind yourself to laugh and see your struggles with humor and love, even in the most frustrating of times. 

3. Find a confidant who understands - or at least tries to. 

It's impossible to deny that, sometimes, living with a chronic illness sucks. It can mean having to cancel fun plans with friends, avoiding certain foods or restaurants or even feeling like a zombie all day. When I'm having a rough day, nothing helps more than having a venting partner who understands (and therefore won't say inappropriate comments, like"I wish I had celiac disease so I could be skinny like you.") These partners can keep you from feeling alone, remind you how awesome you (and your body) really are and help you vent...and move on! If you're lucky, you may have someone with similar medical challenges who lives nearby. In my case, I was fortunate enough to find a college roommate with fibromyalgia. When it was raining, we complained about our joints...together! Even if you live in a small town where no one else understands, you can find a "spoonie" friend online. You can explore chat rooms for your illness, join Facebook groups or even blog about your illness (like I do!) and connect with other bloggers.

Research has found that people with strong social networks are less vulnerable to ill health and premature death, and cope better with various life stressors. So, the next time you need a helping hand, find an empathetic ear instead.

4. Find activities you can enjoy even during a flare-up. 

For many people with chronic illnesses, the most frustrating part is feeling like your life is controlled or limited by your disease. As a result, it's important to find activities that you can enjoy no matter how you're feeling. For instance, when I'm feeling good, I love exercising, blogging and exploring my college town with friends. If I accidentally consume gluten, though, I feel like a brain-fogged zombie for a few weeks - and during that time, I enjoy watching Netflix with friends, reading books and taking short walks outside instead. 

Being happy with a chronic illness often requires compromising - but that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy your backup plan. If you're hit by bad migraines, your "flare-up activity" may involve quietly listening to your favorite podcast as you rest in bed. Or, if you have fibromyalgia and your joints are screaming from the weather, an easy hot yoga class could clear your mind while stretching your body.

Sure, you may not always be able to do everything you want with a chronic illness. With celiac disease, I'll never be able to eat a "normal" gluten-filled pizza again. However, you can still find ways to kick butt at - and love - life. And when you're loving what your body can do - even at its lowest functioning - you're one step closer to loving your body itself. 

5. Realize that your chronic illness is a part of you, for better or for worse. 

My last tip is perhaps the most challenging: acceptance. If you've recently been diagnosed, it may take more time for you to accept that a chronic illness is now a big part of your life. The longer you live with it, though, the more "normal" your illness can feel. And, more importantly, the more positives you can discover. 

For instance, I can't eat gluten - but my celiac diagnosis gave me a new love for cooking (my own, safe gluten-free food). I can't lift super heavy weights without possibly tweaking a muscle - but the 24/7 pain caused by fibromyalgia has taught me strength and determination. (Not to mention, it's given me a decently high pain tolerance!) 

Now it's your turn to fill in the blank: My ___chronic illness___ has fostered __*insert positive traits here*__. It may take you time to figure out what benefits you've received, but they exist. I promise. And the more positives you find, the easier it'll be to love your body for all that it has given you...instead of hate it for anything it's taken away. 

Body image is complicated enough when you don't have a chronic illness. However, loving a body that doesn't seem to love you back isn't only possible - it's also necessary. In my case, I've discovered that my stomach acts up more when I'm stressed, so if I stress out over an intestinal freak out, I'm only perpetuating the cycle. 

Pay attention to your own flares and see if you can notice any similar patterns. But, even if you don't, improving your self love with a chronic illness should still be on the top of your to-do list. You may not have control over your chronic illness, but you can control how you view your illness and your body.

Who knows? Maybe using these five tips and choosing to love your body - despite its flaws - is the first step to your body loving you back. 

*This post will also appear as a guest post at B Clear Writing.*

Like this post? Show it by clicking here to tweet: "Do you know these 5 secrets on loving your body with a #chronicillness? #celiac #fibromyalgia via @collegeceliackc." 

Do you have a chronic illness that impacts your body image? How do you show self love even when battling a chronic illness? Tell me your thoughts in the comments below! 

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