I am so sick of feeling guilty.
Guilt; the fact of having committed a specified or implied offence or crime
Being sick on this level is a complete shit storm. Sometimes literally!
This fucking c-bomb of a disease has my life turned upside down and with that a heap of things and people are therefore affected. Let’s take a look at the last week of my life, shall we!
It started like any normal week – I was tired. I am always tired so this is nothing new and nothing I don’t expect. I made it into work relatively on time and mentally high-fived myself for those small mercies!
Monday came and went without much fan-fare and I tucked myself into bed pleased that I had made it through yet another day – success all round!
Tuesday, now this is where things start to slide down hill. Imagine a truck that has taken a corner too fast and busted through the guard rail and is now teetering on the edge of the cliff. One wrong move and that truck is going over to the great abyss – this is exactly what I woke up feeling (I am the truck by the way)!
I felt sluggish, even more tired than normal and the body gremlins were starting to stir. Then a thought hit me ‘when was the last time I did a poo?’ For a normal person, this is probably not such a significant question – for me, it’s huge. Hubby always says;
‘Hunni, if you don’t shit, you die!’
Oh god, am I dying now? After a couple of minutes and a solid attempt at basic maths – I came up blank. Oh crap! This isn’t good. Unsure of when the last ‘evacuation’ on the brown slip and slide had occurred I came to the conclusion that this explained the general decline in my mood and feeling of well being.
Tuesday dragged like a cement ball attached to a convicts leg… The further through the day I got the heavier that ball got. Now this is where the guilt starts.
I was foul – TO EVERYONE! Come on, you would be too if your poo was poisoning you from the inside out! But this was next level, I growled at everyone I came into contact with, I was short fused with the normal levels of stupidity I tolerate and I even went as far as to loudly huff at the length of time it took the elderly couple in front of me to walk off the train. I was a monster. This isn’t normal behavior – but I kept stewing and festering.
Wednesday. Armageddon. The asteroid my life is attached to was hurdling it’s way towards earth at rapid speed and everyone knew shit was about to go down. With nothing knocking at my internal back door I had no choice but to hit the laxatives. The Lanati attitude was off the rictor scale and everyone that came across my path, felt the wrath of my bipolar moods and general distain for life.
I made it onto the train and the guilt set in. Like a baby being rocked to sleep the train gently rocked me side to side and my guilt monster started to take root.
I felt guilty for how I was handling life.
I felt guilty for how I was snapping at people when I didn’t really mean to.
I felt guilty for lying when people asked how I was (I lied, of course).
I felt guilty for feeling guilty.
And then the pain hit. My penance for being such a horrible bitch. The gut gremlin was back and he was pissed off. I ate some eggs and all hell broke loose. I placed my hand on my stomach at exactly the right spot and I could feel my intestine harden and then soften in time with the pain. Panadine Forte was consumed and I eventually drifted in and out of pain and sleep for the rest of the night.
Thursday. Guilt level 8. The text to the boss. I swear this guy must read my texts and roll his eyes ‘here we go again’. I can’t do it. I can’t move from the bed. Physically I am exhausted. My guts have spent all night awake playing ping pong with my insides and that has made my head hurt. I just can’t. So I won’t. I tell him I will work from home and spend the rest of the day feeling shit for letting the team down.
I feel so guilty for not being at work.
I feel guilty for sleeping in the middle of the day between meetings.
I feel guilty for being off my game and losing focus in my phone meeting.
I feel guilty for breaking my carb-free diet and having soup noodles because chewing food is too much to take, so soup it is.
Friday. It takes a while but I resurface and head to the office. I am greeted with genuine shock because I have made it. Innocent comments like ‘oh, you look good’, make my blood boil and the snarky gremlin rears it’s ugly head.
I feel guilty that I don’t look more sick.
I feel guilty that they might think I was lying.
I feel guilty for questioning them, because of course they know I am not.
I feel guilty for jumping to conclusions.
Saturday. Calling in sick for job #2. The last day. After making the call earlier in the week to say farewell to my second job because I physically can’t do it, plan a wedding and manage a critical illness at once – I woke again in the same horrible fashion as earlier in the week. I couldn’t do it. I was too sick.
I feel guilty for calling the girls and informing them I’m not coming in.
I feel guilty for missing my last shift.
I feel guilty that everyone’s day has been rearranged to accommodate my sickness.
I feel guilty for making the decision to leave them in the first place.
Sunday. A day to myself. I wallow. I reflect on the week and I don’t like how I was and again I feel guilty for that. I thought the worse I would ever feel was when I stole Hubba Bubba at age 7 and mum made me take it back to Woolworths. I was a mess. I had never felt so guilty in my life for taking something that wasn’t mine.
That guilt is nothing to how I felt when I realised that my biggest cheerleader, the Cher to my Sonny, the Yoko to my John, the George to my Amal, the one person that no matter how shitty and foul I was, handled me and my moods like a champ – the Hubby. The poor bastard was put through the ringer and he did it with compassion and grace.
I started to think.
Does Crohn’s feel guilty for stealing part of my life?
Does Crohn’s feel guilty for stealing days of my time when I am so sick I can’t get out of bed.
Does Crohn’s feel guilty for the events I miss because I am too sick to attend.
Does Crohn’s feel guilty for the looks it puts on the face of my nearest and dearest who watch me breakdown and cry or see me brought to my knees in pain.
No. If Crohn’s was a person I would kick it in the clunge and unfriend it from Facebook.
But alas, I can’t do any of that. My only option is to try and stay positive. To manage the bits I can and to try not to be a total arsehole to everyone despite the fact I feel crap. I can’t chose what it throws at me, but I can chose how I deal with it. I can’t guarantee it will be handled well but I can try.
And the first thing I am going to do is – cut myself some slack and get off the guilt train. Those that love me will understand, those that don’t – well they probably don’t matter that much anyway.
This week will no doubt have it’s ups and downs, but I chose to embrace them and leave my guilt in last week.