My life is like a book…

The paper underneath me crinkled as I shifted uneasily.

I had never really enjoyed the doctor’s office. The sterile smell of disinfectant, the crowded waiting rooms with the obligatory fish tank, the eerie silence as the nurse leaves you with, “The doctor will be in in just a moment!” The underlying meaning of just as, ‘I know you’ve been waiting an uncomfortably long time, live up your status as a patient…’

I stifle a yawn as I read the pharmaceutical posters plastered up on the wall that contain a disgustingly graphic design of the body. Take this medication to prevent your body from completely becoming screwed up, lest you end up an example on one of our alluring advertisements.

Suddenly, the door is thrown open and I nearly mess myself from the force. The doctor struts in. He doesn’t even look at my face, keeping his eyes glued to the clipboard in his hands. “So,” he begins. “… You’re tired.”

.. Yep.

“Do you sleep?”

No sir, I consume enough speed to fuel a rhinoceros for a fortnight.

“What’s your diet like?”

I usually root in soft loamy soil for truffles.

“Well, let’s take a blood test and we’ll see what comes back.”

Well fuck me, I hate needles. Damn It.

It takes three male nurses to hold me down to take half a vile of blood. I’m 17 and screaming like the little girl that I am. The female RN informs me in a shrill voice that I could hurt someone if I continue to flail, and at this point they’re considering sedation.

A week later, I’m back. Lo and behold, there’s a new pharmaceutical ad on the wall, this one for anorexia. Our studies show that starving will kill you. Take our new appetite stimulator.*

*Warning: This medication completely bypasses the psychology behind this disease.

I’m ready for the door this time as its opening matches that of a stampede of unbridled horses. The doctor is looking at a file this time, and just so happens to look up and meet my face. He stares at me as if he’s looking at me for the first time (oh wait…) “You’ve got rings under your eyes.”

I guess I won’t be modeling for Abercrombie and Fitch any time in the near future.

I say nothing and he sighs. “Your blood test came back normal, maybe you can take some iron tablets, or something.”

Or something.

“And keep sleeping.”

Buddy, I see you because I sleep 16 hours a day.

And that was that. He walks out. Thus begins my spiral into hell on earth, illness as I’ve never known it for the last 7 years. Do you know how much of a bummer that is for your social life, especially when you’re 17 and haven’t even graduated yet?

In the last several years, I must have experienced hundreds of practitioners. I’ve met some that were kind and listened to what I had to say, but the majority were swift to disregard my symptoms. Several doctors’ abrasiveness caused me to shed tears.

As most ill people will tell you, if they don’t receive answers from the professionals, they will begin to research it themselves. This is when the absurdity of it all begins to hit you. The anger, shame and utter fear I had felt when I discovered the vast amount of lies and deception being fed to us hit me deeper than any symptom of my illness I had ever experienced.

*SNAP*

And even though sometimes I wish that my life was just a story, it is my real life.

The exploration begins.