I’m afraid this blog has the potential to come across as an outlet for self-pity. And I really don’t want to come across as a martyr. That’s not what I’m trying to do. Social media is filled with the happiest moments of people’s lives, which is great. But I’m trying to show the other side of things. I’m trying to share the real side of life. Initially I though this might be a good medium to advocate for IBD patients. But I’ve come to learn that it really is about advocating for everyone. We ALL come with a story of pain, or struggle or heartache. And I want to share mine in an attempt to be genuine and sincere.
Every time I begin to write this post, I close the laptop, and with a churning stomach I promise to tackle it later. I find therapy and comfort in writing and articulating my emotions yet for some reason this post, this particular post, I haven’t been able to bring myself to. I don’t know how to articulate what this new monster is, because I have yet to understand it. I have yet to get a hold on it and fully grasp it. Although my ulcerative colitis slipped through my hands, I always felt I had an understanding of what was going on. But this new little pest does not live in my gut. It lives in my head and my hands can’t reach it.
But I’m going to try and lay out a road map of what’s going on. Because, like IBD, I know others struggle with this monster too. I’m going to try and put it into words for my own comfort because every post I write brings some sort of relief in the form of connectivity between myself and readers. And if anyone has some sort of relatable tale, I welcome it with open arms. I warn you though, I have no guidelines for this post and I’m letting my fingers lead the way. I don’t know where it’s going to go so I can’t promise my best work, but I can promise you honesty and hopefully some sort of positivity in a dark cloudy mind.
Anxiety. My new monster.