The answer lies within the Catch-22 that was my life.
Let me preface this by saying that I do not like to show weakness. I don't like to tell people about my problems, and while I may enjoy complaining about things with other people, I do not like to whine. One month ago I could not write down what I'm about to say, but I have changed, if only a little bit, since October.
Two years ago I nearly died of starvation. I didn't realize it at the time because what little mental energy I had left was completely focused on my schoolwork. Thankfully, my parents took notice of my condition, and after a few doctor visits I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease and was told that I had 0% body fat and that my body had been eating my muscle tissue to survive. Some people may be asking why I didn't eat if I was starving. The answer to that is in the Crohn's. The disease caused inflammation in my intestines that not only cut my appetite drastically, but also made it so that I was absorbing very little of the nutrients from the food that I did manage to eat. The outcome was that I was so skinny that I bruised the back of my ribs from sleeping on a mattress. Thankfully the specialist I found was spectacular, and after being diagnosed I began taking medication to help keep my Crohn's in check. My appetite began to return, and I got better, but only so much. For two years I was locked in my own little Catch-22: I couldn't work-out because I had so little of an appetite left, but I couldn't gain an appetite because I couldn't exercise. For two years I was stuck, trying to improve, to gain some weight, but I couldn't. I began to grow hateful towards heavier people, especially when they complained about their weight or always being hungry. I would think that these people are complaining about something I desperately wished that I had.
After two years of this scenario something changed. It may have been that I began to identify the foods that caused my inflammation, or the actions that did it, or maybe I was just happier, but something changed. I began to put on tiny amount of weight. I would gain maybe a pound in three weeks, and while other people had difficulty seeing it (it's hard to see a pound of difference on a 6'5" body), I could feel it. This summer my parents graciously let me back into their home and gave me the chance I needed to recover, and the gain increased. Last month I finally gained enough energy to exercise again.
You can not imagine how much this meant to me.
After one work out session I nearly doubled the size of my biceps. It sounds like an impossible feat, but you have to take my situation into account. I had almost no muscle left on my upper body, and I doubt I have more than 2% body fat even now. In the three weeks since that day I have changed considerably, and for the first time in two years I don't have to worry that my body can't do what I think it can do.
There's more to this story, more worries, and more memories that hurt me even now to think about, but I've let out enough of my secrets for one day. It's time for me to say what I really wanted to say. I'm not being paid to write this blog, I'm not pretentious enough to run advertisements, and nobody is forcing me to do this. For these reasons and many others I am no longer going to force an agenda on this site. I'm not going to talk about the history of video games unless I want to or somebody asks me to. Starting tomorrow I'm going to write about what I want to write about and you're going to see a lot more posts appear in this blog.
No comments:
Post a Comment