An Open Letter To My Body: living inside the confines of chronic illness

     Most days, you and I are okay. We have learned to work together. You have taught me patience, gratitude, and perspective. While we have progressed together, we have progressed!! I have figured out ways to help you. And as reluctant as I am to admit it, you've changed my life for the better. 

   
    But we make things hard for each other, too. Sometimes I ignore what you're telling me. I am reluctant to take my afternoon medication until my dog is about to burst a fetching aneurysm. I am unwilling to access my port for hydration until I'm so dehydrated it literally hurts to blink. I forget to be patient with you. 

But you are SO reluctant to work with me. If I forget two measly pills, I am struck with not only a dizzy spell for the rest of the afternoon, but it also becomes nearly impossible for me to function because I can't stay awake. If I forget to do one thing, do you really, absolutely, have to shut down? Until the night comes, that is, and I actually want to sleep. Silly me.

   

And then, if I decide I want to eat, heaven forbid, anything in my fridge, you get back at me by making me look six months pregnant. And I'm dang careful too. I don't eat garlic, or anything spicy because you don't like it. I don't eat gluten because you refuse to work if I do, and I don't eat dairy because you completely reject it. Is it really so necessary to be that picky? And don't forget those killer cramps and never ending nausea and indescribable pain.

So thanks for that.

      And as if that weren't enough....

...can I please finish a complete thought without you pulling this crap because I literally cannot even remember what I was going to say next but it was going to be really good thanks for doing that every time I have something awesome to say. Why does every thought I have have to be encompassed by a dense fog that I have to try to navigate through? Why does brain fog have to surround everything? We're lucky the people that love us are patient and willing to play charades...

   
      Along with that wonderful crap, can you really not figure out that there is absolutely no need for you to be in pain? Zilch. Nada. Goose egg. I have taken good care of you, I've been careful to stretch every day and take my medication and everything. So why on earth do I feel like I was run over by a train?
     
     Also, can't you please just follow the doctors orders and stay stitched together and not stretch back out, maybe stop dislocating every time I move, so that I can stop getting you cut open? And if none of that can you at least get the nutrients out of my food so that we don't start to feel worse than we already do?

     I mean... I expect you to do the sorts of "regular" things that all the other bodies do really well. You suck at those things. But... I'm pretty sure if those "regular" bodies were working under your conditions they'd be pretty screwed themselves. So I guess you're alright. We're alright. I love you. It doesn't mean I'm always going to like the way you do things. But We are in this together. You and me. Forever. I'm going to get mad at you. We are definitely going to not get along sometimes.
But that's okay.

We will grow together as teach each other and it is going to work out just fine. 

I forgive you for your faults, and I'm sorry for placing blame on you when it's not your fault.

Thanks for trying,
the girl living inside the confines of chronic illness.