I blog gluten-free

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Say What's Needed

When I had my diagnosis, I promised myself my world would not revolve around food.

I'm tired, lately. Sore, easily bruised. I could easily shock people by saying "Dude, check out my enormous, throbbing...  veins!" (Or, hey, look, the opening from the IV from May's trip to the ER hasn't closed yet!)

Look, there's survival... eating, drinking, and eliminating as if by clockwork. Or, the anthropology professor's old favorite joke, the Three F's: Feeding, Fighting, and... (big pause) mating.

Why should I simply survive? Yes, I glow in the dark, I am not so much white as translucent. I know this. I'm getting help so I at least have color in my cheeks. (Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Mary Kay.) Yes, I slipped somewhere. I let the world get at me. What's eating Beth? The usual. No answers, more tests, leading to a certain hair-tugging mass of symptoms I call Mydoctorlikestoruntestsitis. I'm attempting to, in the spirit of living, as opposed to existing, either accept what I can't change, change what I can, and pray for the wisdom to know the difference.
So, the bad habits are being worked on, and I am trying to be nicer to myself if I slip up.

But seriously? Can I have a day without: "Oh, is that a pimple?" (Why, yes, I break out under stress. Thank you for noticing. While you're at it, please tell me how I look fat today, and gee, the cramps must be terrible.) And for God's sake: can I have some stinking variety? I am sick of gf pasta. I am, however on a S'mores and milk kick, but that could be just summer. Yes, meat is gluten free, as are vegetables, fruits, and milk, and for God's sake, can I put a bite of potato in my mouth without being stared at?! And please... if I am not going the right way, or fast enough, say something. Grabbing my arm will make me feel like I have to defend myself. I don't like being pulled, or pushed. Literally or figuratively.

Look, I am working on the spiritual, nutritional, temporal, physical, emotional. I am not letting it eat me up. But I think it's acceptable to ask that for God's sake, there can be some focus elsewhere?

Also: Never, ever, look at something I've done, like the redecorating I'm doing, or a meal, or anything really, and ask "who helped you?" No one. Because you beat it into my head that asking for help is akin to kicking Mother Theresa in the teeth. And know, there are some things I don't talk to anyone about, and would enjoy it if you could please keep your mouth shut, rather than going to anyone you can think of with those things, or bringing them up while I'm eating. Ex-husband+ food= Beth doesn't have an appetite for a long time.

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