several months later
Months have passed by and my illness has gotten progressively worse. One by one new allergies emerge torturing me slowly. First it was coffee then it was Diet Coke next, it was chocolate.
My worst nightmare was coming true. Little by little I was losing all of my favorite foods. One by one my favorite devices are being stripped from me against my will. Unlike alcohol I wanted these addictions.
I'd finally given up alcohol a year ago but I'd rather be dead than live a caffeine free life.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. Next up on the allergies list was ketchup, salad dressing, and anything that ended in the word sauce. This may have been the most devastating loss of all pretty sure sauce is my favorite food group.
As of all, this isn't enough next, it was ice cream and anything that smells slightly like dairy. I thought surely it would in there, but it doesn't. Next came bread, pasta, and cake. And they're a little funeral for this food group.
Devastating doesn't even touch the surface of the depth of my despair over this.
I didn't realize it was possible to be allergic to so many things at once. To put the final nail in the coffin, I became allergic to fruit and finally spices, leaving very little left of the world I had once known.
Vermont I survive on plain chicken and plain white rice. I hated my life and was counting on the days for it just to end between being in pain 24 seven and my inability to eat, I dropped to a frightening scary 97 pounds. The pain is a type of pain that changes you. The kind of pain that makes you wish you were already dead. Today is no different. It's another day of misery and I'm doomscrolling social media. Just trying to take my mind off the painful spasms surging through my body. I take a sip of my water and make a face. It tastes like sadness.
I miss Diet Coke. And coffee.
Despite sticking to a diet straight from the depths of hell, my symptoms persisted and along with it, so did my suicidal ideation.
Dizzy spells and pain flares kept me in bed for days on end, making it impossible to run a business.
I wake up the next morning, looking five years older with my skin, looking particularly saggy. My eyes are particularly hollow. I resemble a skin covered ghost, clawing its way back from the grave the dark circles under my eyes give me a quirky criminal raccoon aesthetic. I do my best to cover them with make up, but I know what's lurking beneath the war paint. And if one more motherfucker, asked me if I'm tired…
The truth is, I am tired, but it's not the kind of tired that sleep can help. No matter how much I sleep it's never enough. The fatigue becomes chronic but it's especially worse after I eat. Sometimes, I can barely keep my eyes open. As another wave of pain barrels through my bladder, I stuck in a swift breath.
Kill me now.
