TL;DR:
Doctors don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know what's wrong with me. I have a plan to feel better. I'm implementing it now. I'm going to be flip flopping the trail this year starting in Kennedy Meadows (or Mount Whitney since it's easier to get to). This means I'll head north from Kennedy Meadows and then after I've made it to Canada, I'll fly or drive back down to KM and head south to southern terminus. That isn't such a bad thing. In the meantime I'll be in Colorado getting on top of every mountain within a hundred mile radius.
The long:
April 18th, immediately after my colonoscopy.
The anesthetics are wearing off and I'm becoming more and more capable of what the piece of paper in my hands means. It says, "Colon appears to be normal".
Normally, that would sound awesome, but for me, it's almost like a death sentence. "Colon appears to be normal" translates into "we don't know what's wrong with you, ha, sorry that you've spent so much time/energy/money trying to figure it out but we still don't know jack shit and you're just going to have to suffer".
First, I'm disappointed. Six months of build up to what? Fucking nothing. Then, I'm frustrated. Frustrated to such a degree that there needs to be a new word invented to describe it. It feels like my skin is on fire. How can this be? How can NO ONE TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? But I'm not surprised. I don't put a whole lot of faith in doctors or western medicine or any of that shit, but they stuck a fucking 20 foot long camera up my ass AND STILL CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHAT'S WRONG. Then I start to spiral down into despair. Despair that wholly consumes the function of my brain and body. Despair that sucks me so far into the abyss of hopelessness that I can't see the light of day anymore and I don't give a shit and honestly I think I'll just lay on my porch listening to the same song on repeat until I die from exposure or rats eat me. Preferably eaten by rats.
Everything begins to feel like a chore, even leisurely things. Eating? Nah, I hate eating anyways, it hurts my stomach too fucking bad. Sleeping? No thanks, I'll just stay awake until 4 in the morning and my body makes me pass out from boredom. Waking up? Why, what for? I don't have a good reason to do that. Reading? No, fuck that, too much thinking. TV? Eh, maybe I'll try it. Wait this isn't working either, I can't force myself to pay attention to even this.
At some point I decide "fuck it, I'm gonna go hike the PCT even if I'm totally miserable" then I have a terrible night of stomach pain and all the rest and surprise, I have a change of heart, because even if I do go hike, I won't make it far, and let's be real, it would be wildly irresponsible for me to go hike without figuring out what the fuck has been hurting me for the last year. May 7th (my original start date) rolls around and I'm still going through these cycles of "let's fucking hike, who cares!" and "no god damnit, you're going to fucking die".
The days come and go, and since I quit my job I don't have any good indication of how many have passed. I just know that I've been swallowed up into a routine of nothingness. Meanwhile my relationships with my family and friends are deteriorating. I can't respond to texts, I don't want to talk on the phone, I don't have any motivation to see anyone or do anything. And it's making things worse. I can see that I'm neglecting the things that matter most, but I can't stop. That's maybe the worst part of this whole being sick thing, I honestly don't have the energy to even be a decent person to the people I care most about, instead I am a selfish piece of shit that wallows in his own self loathing... I recognize it, and STILL can't do shit about it. So I apologize. To all of you, but mostly to the people I love. I'm going to make it better soon. I promise.
So I've chosen to isolate myself. I'm headed to Colorado for (at least) the next month, where I'll try to sort my life out, get out of the fucking gutter, get real fucking serious about trying to heal, and figure out a new game plan in terms of hitting the trail, because I can't imagine a life without thruhiking... Get serious, I can't even imagine a summer without thruhiking.
Things haven't shaped up the way I expected, but I'm not dead and I'm not defeated, so sorry assholes, but you're not done with me yet.
See y'all when I see you. Hopefully soon. Take care.
Have you been tested for Celiac disease? Certainly nothing to lose at this point.
ReplyDeleteHave you been tested for Celiac disease? Certainly nothing to lose at this point.
ReplyDeleteSorry to read that your stomach is still fucked and that the gastro only gave you a bullshit answer. Sorry doesn't cover it, I know, but I really do empathize. Stomach pain is debilitating to say the least, and being sick while everyone around you goes on functioning is hard and gets lonely. If you ever need to vent or express some kind of concern, don't hesitate to hit me up-- I'm not even a little squeamish about these things. Have fun and be safe in Colorado.
ReplyDeleteHello dear one, just read this and am feeling heartbroken for your struggle. Hope that you have found some peace and a pathway to healthfulness since you wrote this. Would love to cross paths again sometime. Please let me know if you ever want to talk or if there’s anything I can do. Much love, Gillian.
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