Apparently it's not all in my head.

For most of my life I have avoided crying in front of people. It wasn't something that my mother looked kindly upon, especially when she was beating me. But don't mention that to her, we're not supposed to talk about all of that. The subject of my parental limitations is definitely to be brought up, but the years of systematic abuse...no. I live amongst people who seem to think that goodness and wisdom come from age, rather than from lessons learned in a positive way. Oh well, I give up on trying to address that. It no longer matters to me whether or not these people acknowledge what I feel.

So it's been three weeks since my doctor told me to see a shrink (and that my current one must not have been doing a good job). Had I not cried in that office, I probably would not be on the verge of a legitimate diagnosis. What I do know is that the issue is an autoimmune disease. It seems that my body is destroying my red blood cells. I ache with every movement. It's no longer just "you're fat," or "you're depressed." Um, you're damn right I am! You would be too, if you felt like this!

I went from being just another hypochondriac to being "my dear" and "my friend". All of a sudden I'm treated with solicitousness. I don't know whether or not to be scared. I do know that what I'm about to learn is going to change my life. Especially as a parent. I just hope that I can be independent in spite of all of this. I'm going to try. I honestly believe that living alone (with the boy in tow) would be good for my health. If it is true that suppressed rage causes illness, then I need to separate myself, because I'm quite angry with the world around me. I might as well go on and admit it. I don't dwell on it a lot, but I am angry at the people who have used me as a target all these years, as well as those who have come to snap judgments based upon their own shallow nature. I will not stop holding both myself and those around me to a higher standard when it comes to how to treat people. I am a human being. Treat me like one. My pain, my illness doesn't lessen the fact that I bleed just like you when cut.

I fear for my boy. Who will care for him when I'm gone? Because I accept that I will not be an old lady. People always tell me not to speak that into existence, but I feel that this is just a form of denial, one that I wish those closest to me would not fall into. So far, only two people have actually sat and listened to my concerns or need to make plans. I will not be blindsided by this. While my prognosis might not be death within a few years, there is a good chance my son will be young when I go. Can I please go knowing he won't be alone and confused?

At least today I know that it's not just depression. The blood work says that a heart attack is imminent. It says that my disease is chronic, and it's destroying my body. It says that what I've been trying to get someone to see for years, is actually there. I haven't been lying. I'm not a drug seeker (though they do work...shoot me).

I am ill. And I didn't make it up. I just wish I had a support system nearby. The love of my family that is distant keeps me going on the darkest days, but it is very hard knowing how many people are right up the road, who don't pay me a single thought. It's like I'm not worth anything to them.