My Promise To My Life

I don't know if it's just me, or if it's a law of life- but as soon as I get a break, as soon as the famine of happiness ceases, something sh*tty happens again.  It's usually (though not always) through fault of my own that a wave of peace I'm riding crashes apart around me.  OK, sorry- enough whining dressed with strained eloquence.  

I had a marvelous weekend.  I slept, read scripts, accomplished things, drank delicious coffee, ate yummy and healthy food, and saw people at my leisure.  Every day my skin has been healing more and every night I sleep a bit better.  Monday was definitely nice.  I spent the entire day catching up with Shannon; we lunched and ran errands and I was totally feeling like my old self.  In the evening her boyfriend asked us if we wanted to see a movie and get dinner beforehand. Dinner was got at Ruby Tuesday, formerly one of my favourite places to eat.  Going gluten-free and part vegan has made me realize how unhealthy their menu is.  Fortunately I had stopped at home to take medicine and eat dinner, so I simply ordered some fries and a coke.  Well, my friends had an appetizer sampler, and finding it very hard to resist, I took a piece of fried chicken that I swear was no bigger than my pinky finger, picked [most] of the batter off, dipped it barely in honey mustard, and ate it.  BIG MISTAKE.  My doctor told me no "cheats" on my diet should be allowed.  I just read the other day how half a teaspoon's worth of sauce containing gluten made a Celiac's sufferer sick for three days.  Not 30 minutes had gone by before I was aware of several little sores that are trying to heal, I was generally itchy and antsy, and I felt depressed and nervous.  Throughout the movie I fidgeted constantly, telling myself it was all in my head.  Last night and this morning proved me wrong, and I feel confident in saying I am amazed and sobered by how delicate balancing this disorder is.

In addition to feeling physically unwell at the end of my otherwise great day, I came home to end up talking to a very cranky boyfriend, said things I shouldn't have, and etc. etc. and so on throughout a partly sleepless night.  Wonderful.

This morning I awoke on time, took my prescriptions (that I am extremely grateful I still have plenty of), endured three trips in one hour to use the toilet, cursed the fact that it once again hurts to shower, put on a cute outfit, and went to work with a smile.  As I was styling my hair (taking the time to look nice is part of my mental coping these days) I thought about how I don't want to be brought down by this plant germ, this protein, this "silent killer" as some name it, called gluten.  

Having an autoimmune disorder is not going to go away.  There is no medicine I can take or enough water in the world to magically erase harm done to my body.  It's not just about eczema.  The medical complications associated with undiagnosed CD are frightening (some I was reading on include osteoporosis, extreme liver damage, and infertility).  The key now seems to be maintenance, which last night I failed it.  When I'm not disciplined, I'm only cheating myself of the wonderful life I'm craving so dearly.  Henceforth, Esau's soup itself could not tempt me to make my life anymore miserable than it has to be.