I'm in need of a good rant and cry, so excuse this horrendously long post.
Basically, my stomach and the muscles around it don't work. At least not very well, so I tend to have serious digestion problems after meals and it's all slowly ruining my life. The doctors are calling it IBS simply because they haven't found anything that appears wrong yet. It's been going on since I was eight years old and, to me, seems to continuously get worse. First I turned lactose intolerant, then a few years later I cut meat from my diet. By 15 I wasn't able to each much aside from grains, and it's continued that way. Tonight I've discovered that I've turned intolerant to olive oil.
I weighed around 95 pounds (43kg) at 15 and now, at 22, weigh 86 (39kg). As I'm only 4'11" it's not massively underweight, but it's frustrating that anytime I try to gain weight my body decides against it: I'll get ill for a few days and sometimes end up weighing even less.
![Embarrassed :-[](https://www.talk.uk-yankee.com/Smileys/classic/embarrassed.gif)
I've been through too many medical tests to name, have spent the past three years trying different medications to see if they'd help, and I can't say I've seen any improvement. The most doctors can do is label me as having IBS, which comes down to meaning absolutely nothing. It's sad, but I'd actually be happy knowing I had some horrible medical condition just so I knew what was wrong and the doctors might be able to go about fixing it.
While it's one thing dealing with the physical side of it, it's the mental aspect that's really starting to get to me. Every time I have plans to do something, I stress because I think my stomach might cause a problem. And then stressing only makes my stomach react even worse; it's a viscous cycle. If I'm in a comfortable environment and there's a toilet nearby, then I can cope. But now that I've moved to London I find it's becoming more difficult to deal, especially with public transportation and such. Whenever I do travel or have to be somewhere important, I (horribly) opt not to eat simply to avoid all problems. I sometimes call this being "involuntarily anorexic". It's not that I don't want to eat; I would love to have a meal like normal people and not worry that a few minutes later I'll be in agony. But even that process has caused problems, as I once opted not to eat before a long flight and passed out on the plane from lack of food. Since then I've tried to eat sensibly whilst travelling or even take preemptive medication like Immodium.
I lost my job two weeks ago because of this whole thing. I had been working in a museum, but whenever I was having issues with my stomach, I couldn't bring myself to go in. Not only is a Tube ride miserable when you're feeling that nauseated, but during my shifts I was literally not allowed to leave my assigned room for the toilet unless someone came to cover for me. I'd have to radio a manager and it could take up to twenty minutes for them to finally show up, and my bowels aren't exactly patient. So I must have called off one too many times because I was told not to bother coming in anymore. I'll admit I never told them I had issues, mostly because it's really not easy telling people that I have diarrhea rather often (and it's not something anyone wants to hear about either
![Lips Sealed :-X](https://www.talk.uk-yankee.com/Smileys/classic/lipsrsealed.gif)
). The one good thing that has come out of this is that I did hate that job, but I would have preferred to have left on my own terms.
To top it off, all this stress has pushed me to the point of becoming severely uncomfortable in enclosed spaces and over the past year I've developed claustrophobia. I nearly had to leave a cinema earlier this week because I felt like I was suffocating - and a scene on an airplane really didn't help the matter. A short flight two months ago turned into a two-hour panic attack.
![Embarrassed :-[](https://www.talk.uk-yankee.com/Smileys/classic/embarrassed.gif)
I feel like I take a cocktail of pills every morning, and it's starting to seem pointless. My GP has at least been trying to find a good medication for me and has also signed me up to attend some anxiety therapy which that could potentially lead to more time with a psychiatrist, which I obviously really need (but of course there's that waiting list). I just feel awful, like I really don't have much of a life, and I hate making my BF put up with it (yet I realise how lucky I am that he does).
My apologies for rambling forever, but I'm having a particularly rough night and am feeling incredibly depressed.
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