The year I turned twenty, I was sick like this all the time. Every day was a new symptom. Aimless. Pointless. My stomach and then my bladder and then my head and then a pervasive cold and my nostrils filled with mucus and so much trying to throw up like this, every time at noon and on and on and on. I am kneeling against the toilet waiting for the puke to come up. Where are you? And back then I was fucking sick all the time to the point where I was truly angry, because it didn't make any sense, it wasn't fair. Throwing up at noon every day. A lot of cramps and diarrhea. And blurry vision. Clammy hands. My head would ache for hours and hours and hours. What do you do when your body is upset like this? How are you supposed to get answers when a doctor costs eleven thousand dollars?
And a friend finally gave me an answer, said I was sick because I was unhappy. The brain can affect the body and something is wrong with my life that is causing this. So the year I turned twenty I also tried so hard to make myself happy, I took medicine, I saw a therapist and then another therapist, and I stopped working at the same time, too, and I was out of money by October. I ate healthy and then I ate shitty. I went for walks and then stayed in bed all day. I destroyed my life. Next February it stopped.
It was worse that it stopped because it meant I had nothing. I had no answers. I had no truth.
