Because as much as I want to go dance to Rihanna and drink a vodka soda and be there when someone pukes off a balcony, the FOMO is often outweighed by the FOGO.
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Because as much as I want to go dance to Rihanna and drink a vodka soda and be there when someone pukes off a balcony, the FOMO is often outweighed by the FOGO.
Because when you’re young and sick and feel like you’re missing out on real life, you’ve got some stuff to be angry about.
In Trump’s America, I have to pay $15,000 a month out of pocket. I cannot do that, as most people can’t.
While a lot of healthy, upper-middle-class white dudes can afford to sit this one out because their rights aren’t at stake here, we definitely can’t.
Because I had grown up with bad internalized feelings surrounding feeling like a hypochondriac, it took way longer than it should have for me to be diagnosed with Crohn’s.
Thanks for the constant reminder that no one is ever as alone as they might feel, and that the roller coaster has as many ups as it does downs.
The thing about these opinions is that for pretty much any opinion that exists on the internet, the inverse of it exists as well.
After 8+ months of Saturday nights in, a monumentally bloated face, and a diet more restrictive than Beyonce-inspired veganism, wouldn’t I want to shout “I’M FEELING BETTER” from the rooftops?
Chronic illness is like having a really shitty extra monthly utility bill that you didn’t ask for, but instead of giving you A/C, it keeps you alive.
I commend anyone who chooses to go through their chronic illness in such a public forum, whether it’s educating a stranger at a party or educating millions of fans via Instagram.
Instead of getting blackout like every bachelorette party in Nashville, I focused my attention on other fun stuff, like eating biscuits and taking pictures in front of basically every Instagram-worthy wall in Tennessee.
Chronic illness in general can be isolating, but you know what’s extra isolating? Talking about poop.
And then I put voice to the thought that goes through my head whenever I see someone who's chronically ill achieving some crazy feat–– if they can do it, why can't I? What am I doing wrong?
When we talk about health like it’s a personal success, the problem is that we all too often then talk about illness like it’s a personal failure.
I would love to tell you that yes, in fact, I have miraculously come out of this flare and it will probably never happen again and, as it turns out, I am healthy as a horse.
I know if my Gramma were around, we could sit around and watch TV, and I wouldn’t feel bad at all bitching to her about how my steroid taper is making my hips hurt so bad that I can’t sleep.
What if we stopped glorifying the hustle? What if we instead started glorifying things like taking care of yourself, writing your sister a letter to make her smile, re-reading your favorite Harry Potter book in the sunshine, or just making it through the day?
My friends and family prove to me every day that even if not everybody “gets it,” I am at the very least blessed with people who care enough to try.
We only feel like we’re missing out because we subscribe to some random belief that there’s a certain set of experiences we should be having and that if we aren’t having them, we’re somehow doing life wrong.