I want this blog to be more than a how-to live with IBD blog. I want to talk about my life, and I want to let you, the reader, into my world. I want you to know how I think and what makes me tick. I want to share my successes along with my failures. I want you to really know who I am as a person so that you can best determine for yourself whether or not I’m the type of person whose advice you want to take. The SEO tool I use will tell me not to post this, but I don’t care.
This post will read more like a journal entry. If that’s not what you’re into, don’t read any further. Let me suggest this post. For whatever reason, it’s turned out to be quite popular.
I’m writing to you, the reader, but also to myself. I’ve written before about how writing can be cathartic for me. Getting my thoughts, ideas, and problems out of my head and onto this digital piece of paper makes them easier for me to process. Writing forces me to actively engage with my thoughts and emotions—kind of like free therapy with myself. Ah, alas, if only it didn’t take me two weeks to get myself to sit down and start pecking at the keyboard.
I’m an admittedly unhappy dude. I feel like the world has wronged me many times over, and I have a jaded view of life. However, I’ve been increasingly sad lately, and last weekend it just got to be too much. I spent mental health awareness day having a complete and utter mental breakdown.
I’m struggling to pinpoint the exact source of my unhappiness, and that’s what this post is. I’m going to write down for the world wide web everything that’s been eating at me. At the end, I’ll have a rousing motivational paragraph to remind you, my dear reader, that there is, in fact, plenty to be happy about. You won’t want to skip that!
The things you’re about to read aren’t unique to me. Millions of folks struggle with the same things, and many more struggle with far more debilitating issues. I am a white man who has never had to wonder where my next meal would come from. I am aware of all that I am blessed with. The mere fact that I had to go back and write this paragraph is proof that writing down your thoughts can really put things into perspective. Maybe reading about my struggles will make you feel less alone. Perhaps it will piss you off that I took the time to put this on the internet. I’m not sure which way this will go, but I’m willing to find out.
So here we go. This is what’s been weighing on me lately, starting with the obvious elephant in the room…
COVID-19
The pandemic is taking a toll on every single person on this planet. Still, it feels like other people are handling it better than myself. Maybe it’s because I’m actually following the rules, and I’m constantly trying to decide if that makes me a chump.
My favorite joke lately is to tell my girlfriend, “COVID sucks for everybody, but it sucks for me the most.” Unfortunately, the more you say something, the more you start to believe it. To be fair, in the year leading up to the WHO’s declaration of a global pandemic, I was going through the worst flare of my life. I lost 60 pounds while regularly filling the toilet bowl with blood. I was afraid to leave home for fear of shitting my pants. The year culminated with a month-long hospital stay and another month of recovery before I could reasonably say I was an independent adult again.
Then, just as I started to turn the corner, just as I could begin to reap the benefits of living with an ostomy, the world stood still. So yeah, I think it’s fair to say this pandemic has worn on me slightly more than the average American millennial.
Money
Ah, money the root of all evil. I recently read a study that said money stresses out Americans more than terrorism. TERRORISM! Honestly, it makes sense. If I’m not thinking about how to let a friend know I won’t be attending their birthday bash during a pandemic, I’m thinking about how to make more money.
Here’s my most painful confession. I’m struggling with debt. While I have been largely frugal with money, I made one massive mistake at 18. I followed a girl to a college I couldn’t afford. Now I’m not talking a little too pricey. I’m talking I now pay a mortgage every month to Sallie Mae. I’m not kidding. Check out what tuition is this year at Saint Louis University. I’ll save you a click. It’s $46,000. Multiplied by 4, and that’s $184,000! Now that’s not quite what I paid, but who the hell can afford that!? Raise your hand if you’ve never even heard of Saint Louis University because I sure as shit hadn’t! Yes, I’m bitter, and no, we’re no longer together.
As I’m sure you’re all aware, I can’t live in my 8.5 X 11 diploma. Yep, it’s just a regular piece of paper. I print my resume on nicer paper. UGH! The point is, this one poor decision has made it challenging for me to live my best life or even a life similar to folks I graduated with. It’s demoralizing to watch people moving forward with their lives, buying homes, getting married, having kids. At the same time, I am forced to work a second job just to get by.
Health
I’m feeling better than I have in a long time, but that’s not saying much. I’m still dealing with this damn fistula that forces me to take a bath in the toilet every night before bed. I’m also dealing with a pretty nasty peristomal skin rash. If you have any tips for clearing that ups, let’s talk! Those are quite frankly minor inconveniences, but they are taking a toll none the less.
I’m struggling with being healthy again. I have a pretty messed up relationship with food right now. I can’t even count the times I’ve felt like I wanted to eat something only to freak out that it might cause a blockage. I need to just grow a pair and try some new foods, but I’m hesitant to take risks during a global pandemic.
Aside from eating healthy, getting regular exercise has been an absolute chore. I’m deathly afraid of getting a hernia, and I swear every day I feel a new “tweak” around my stoma. I’m confined to my apartment so much that I don’t think I have become adequately adjusted to life with an ostomy. I’m struggling to find the balance between overdoing it and doing too little. Oh! And the more I sweat, the worse the peristomal skin rash gets!
Actually, as I write this, I can’t come up with much more to complain about my health. I’ve been sick for almost two decades, and I guess I’m getting numb to it.
Career
I’m lucky to have a job, I’m thankful that I have a job, but I hate my job.
All things considered, I don’t have a lousy job. I get to sit in a climate-controlled office, with free coffee and donuts. If I need to use the bathroom, I can, no questions asked. I’m compensated well and have good health insurance. However, my creativity and problem-solving skills are routinely stifled by management, and I feel like I have no control over my days. An office life is not the life for me. I am Peter Gibbons of Office Space, and I have an indefinite case of the Mondays.
Twelve-year-old Tim would be crushed to know this is how it all ends up. I had big dreams, and a lot of them were extinguished with my Crohn’s diagnosis. Crohn’s doesn’t keep me from physically performing any particular job (professional athlete was never in the cards for me). However, the careers I wanted to pursue would have required me to live, at least for some time, below a standard that would afford me access to proper medical care.
My girlfriend keeps telling me that it’s normal to hate your job. I vehemently disagree. Like I said earlier, I spent (well, am still spending) and an ungodly amount of money on an education that I expected to catapult me into a fulfilling and lucrative career. It hasn’t worked out that way for me, and it’s soul-crushing.
*If my employer is reading this, please don’t fire me. Without this job, I would be on a whole new level of miserable.
The Good Part
Here it is. The part you read all that self-serving bitching for (Please don’t tell me you skipped ahead.). Here’s where I flip the switch and turn this objectively hostile blog post into something motivational. Here goes nothing.
Yes, there are people out there who are worse off. Maybe you, my dear reader, are one of them. That doesn’t make how I’ve been feeling any less valid. It doesn’t make what you or anyone else is going through any less valid either. Each and every one of us is allowed to feel, however we see fit. In fact, I believe periods of grief and introspective thought are healthy. Just don’t stay there too long.
For me, these periods of intense sadness come and go. As I am writing this, I am already in a significantly better headspace. If you’re struggling, no matter what it is, time is usually your best friend. Just as the seasons turn and the tectonic plates shift, our bodies heal, and opportunities present themselves.
If you can’t shake the sadness, my tip is to take some kind of action. The smaller, the better. Go for a walk, fill out a job application, learn something new, write, just find something you can control, and take action. I took some time away from social media, and it’s been just what the doctor ordered. I focused on some things I had been neglecting, and I wrote this blog post.
Whatever you’re going through, whatever is eating at you, give yourself time to feel down, but then keep going.
