It's back and it's killing me.
Saturday, 03.14.2015 - 5:25 pm.

Everything disgusts me. I'm physically disgusted almost all the time. The sickness came back: the pain in my stomach, the bloating, the throwing up air. I'd been ok for a week and a half, thinking the worst had passed. But this week it all came back. And I can only describe it as disgust, pain in my abdomen as I want to throw up, all the time.

It takes a toll on my emotions. It takes a toll on my work. It's like this discomfort (really violent discomfort) is now being associated to, well, everything I do. So I get in touch with things from work and I feel disgusted. And so on.

Andrew was sick like me on monday. He'd been for a couple of days and went to the ER. They told him to switch his diet for a week, and that perhaps he caught a bug. Then he went to the doctor on wednesday, too, I'd made an appointment for him because in those previous couples of days, he'd had a nosebleed twice. He shrugged it off until I said "if this was me bleeding over the sink, you wouldn't think twice about taking me to the doctor". So he went. It didn't seem like a big deal for the doctor though, and Andrew just took the opportunity to get a general screening, the responsible man that he is.

Still, he's better now. I only seem to get worse. No matter what I eat or don't eat, no matter that I follow the prescriptions. That is killing me. I mean, the medicines I'm taking right now are killing all the flora in my stomach, no wonder I can't seem to digest anything. But even when I'm off the meds it's the same. I wonder, am I poisoned? Is something else going on? I went to two doctors, I got my exams and nothing that may explain this is showing up on the results.

This condition is making it harder for me to work. And to try to make our last effort in our doctorate applications, before the deadline comes in a month. I was in crisis yesterday. I was walking around campus, trying to focus on the sunlight instead of my pain, on my way to meet Andrew for lunch. I saw a woman with a four or five year-old little girl. The little girl was running behind some birds. I thought, no, I felt "I'd rather be raising a child than pursuing a PhD". Which may sound whatever you think, but let's get past shaming other people's decisions about what to do with their life, and moreover, I'm fucking exhausted.

This morning I only had half a glass of orange juice that had me in pain and violently burping/nearly throwing up, the orange juice burning my throat trying to make its way back. Some six hours later, Andrew and I are at a pizza place for lunch and I'm finally getting over the disgust. That moment of eating our pizza was joyous, and for a while it didn't matter the discomfort I felt before or the one that was going to after. It was pure joy. Then Andrew and I took a walk, it was so nice.

And now I'm back in bed, feeling like crap.

This is a random comment, but I love Andrew. I'd marry him if I hadn't already. He's been with me through all this and I'm so sorry he, by proxy, has to live with this.

And I don't feel like writing anymore.

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