No one would ever know what is in my bags. Unless one spilled over- which is a nightmare I have often. I pack up every possible medical bottle or device. I pack all kinds of makeup to make me look less ghostly. I bring emergency phone numbers, I bring EVERYTHING. (this, alone, is exhausting. I always leave the house thinking, "if I wind up in the hospital" will I have what I need? I def feel like a bag lady.)
I do love my life, but I hate alot of things lately.
I hate having so much to say, to blog, to share but my hands hurt too much to type.
I hate popping pills.
I hate living up to other people’s expectations of what a healthy person should be.
I hate living up to other people’s expectations of what being sick is.
I hate thinking about how or when I might die, because for me it might be a “when day” and not a “someday”.
I hate never feeling good enough, quick enough, pretty enough, or just “enough”.
I hate that I know my doctors better than I know my friends and some of my family.
I hate that no matter how hard people try, (or don’t try) They will never know the loneliness of being in a crowded room knowing you are the only one who tells time by pills, energy and spoons.
I hate people who complain, “I need a nap”, “I need some caffeine, I have a headache”, “I have pms cramps”, or even better… “I have a cold… I am Ddddddyyyiing!”. These expressions need to be banned, because they do not
adequately describe how you are feeling and they belittle what pain and sickness I may be feeling.
I hate having to defend that I am a good mother, daughter, sister, or friend. (or wife...)
Most of all lately, I hate people who judge, and give me advice, or questioning stares of how I handle my diagnosis, or my life.
I do love my life, but I hate alot of things lately.
I hate having so much to say, to blog, to share but my hands hurt too much to type.
I hate popping pills.
I hate living up to other people’s expectations of what a healthy person should be.
I hate living up to other people’s expectations of what being sick is.
I hate thinking about how or when I might die, because for me it might be a “when day” and not a “someday”.
I hate never feeling good enough, quick enough, pretty enough, or just “enough”.
I hate that I know my doctors better than I know my friends and some of my family.
I hate that no matter how hard people try, (or don’t try) They will never know the loneliness of being in a crowded room knowing you are the only one who tells time by pills, energy and spoons.
I hate people who complain, “I need a nap”, “I need some caffeine, I have a headache”, “I have pms cramps”, or even better… “I have a cold… I am Ddddddyyyiing!”. These expressions need to be banned, because they do not
adequately describe how you are feeling and they belittle what pain and sickness I may be feeling.
I hate having to defend that I am a good mother, daughter, sister, or friend. (or wife...)
Most of all lately, I hate people who judge, and give me advice, or questioning stares of how I handle my diagnosis, or my life.
