|Posted by Alyssa on March 13, 2016 at 8:50 PM|
4 months ago my dreams were finally realized, prayers answered.
After almost 9 years living with a debilitating illness I can finally say it controls me no longer!
That part of my life is over.
The struggle is no longer a reality.
The micro-managing has ceased; the fear is gone.
I was skeptical that this day would ever come. I knew the possibilities, the statistics, the norm…but nothing about this is normal.
Some of you have no idea what this means but for those of you who’ve known me at all during the last 9 years—heard any bit of my story pertaining to this struggle, prayed your heart out for healing—you know.
You know that I’m still sitting here, four months later, hand covering my mouth, water in my eyes, heart contracting, asking my brain if this is really real.
I’ve had four months to come to terms with this news and I still feel as stifled and lost as the day I took the test. I mean…it’s been 9 years.
6 months without a clue—floating from doctor to doctor, missing volleyball practice after practice, explaining over and over and arriving at the same conclusion: confusion.
A year and a half operating under the wrong diagnosis—making incremental improvements, home schooling and online classes and going to school two hours a day (if I could).
7 years under the correct diagnosis—countless classes missed, countless events never attended, emotional ups and extreme downs, thoughts of suicide. (I mean, was I even really living?)
Relationships strained, ER visits, judgmental stares. Wrong assumptions, pills and doctor visits and heart monitors. Missing weeks of school and rushing every assignment, salt a major food group, diet restrictions.
Too nauseated to think, talk, move or breath. Too weak to walk, stand, sit up or roll over.
Keeping my emotions in check at all times. Choosing when to get excited, to laugh, to smile when any rise in my heart rate could be disastrous.
Feeling like I was alone but not wanting to be with people—being with people took energy, energy I didn’t possess.
Feeling like the downer of any party—I didn’t exactly light up a room.
Feeling sorry for myself.
Feeling like I could never be truly honest about how I was feeling—voicing it didn’t change anything, except for introducing a quiet awkwardness into the room.
The fear of passing out in front of people, of getting hurt, of being a spectacle.
The fear that I would look lazy, disinterested.
The fear that if I did too much today I would be unable to do anything tomorrow.
The fear it would never stop.
The fear that I would never do anything, be anyone.
The fear that my dreams were over before they were realized.
This was my life, my world, my reality.
But my reality has changed.
Even if it doesn’t feel real; it is real. It happened.