As each day passes, I beginning to realize that my physical condition is regresses. My body feels starved of any energy though I fight through the severe nausea and force food down my throat. Aches and pains are still plaguing me 24/7 despite the fact that I am on enough pills to put a whole army in a narcotic-induced fog.
You would think after nearly 5 months of experiencing ever-worsening and distressing physical agony, the doctors would have finally given me a diagnosis. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. So far I have seen two specialists that are hours away from our house and one instantly categorized me as some attention-seeking, mentally-ill juvenile. The only thing I got from both these MDs (who are suppose to be some of the best in the country) was pain meds and believe me that’s the last thing I want. All I care for is a diagnosis. You would think that wouldn’t be too much to ask.
Since my physical and emotional health are directly related, it is quite obvious then as my physical health deteriorates so would my emotional health. That’s exactly what’s been happening. I have been bursting out into fits of rage at even the most trivial things. Even my mom’s random, nonchalant singing has resulted in me turning into a furious monster. I can tell my parents are exhausted by my roller-coaster mood-swings and I wish I could tell them that I am too. I mean, I don’t want to be yelling or screaming at anyone. I really don’t.
But when it feels like your whole world is crashing down, I think it is natural for one to experience grave emotional anguish . . . At least, I hope it is a natural response . . . .