Why

Celiac disease watches evey move I make.  He wants me to slip up so he can rear his ugly head.  It's like he thinks it's funny to make me suffer.  Why me?  Why is it so difficult?  At first it wasn't that big of a deal.  It didn't bother me that much.  But Now, almost 10 years later, I can't stand it anymore!  I'm tired.

I want to ask God, why?  Why me?  I want to talk to others that go through the same thing and see if they have the same hatred as I do towards this thing we have to suffer through?  It's really not a big deal.  It's not easy and it's not convienent but so what?  When you're as busy as me, it matters.  When your have zero energy like me convience matters. 

Do you know how much I just want to not worry about it?  It's stressful.  I want to eat a meal and not worry whether it's going to kill my stomach the next day.  I want to be able to throw something, hit someone, cuss someone out!  But who?  myself?  It's my own body that does this to me,  My own stupid decisions.  My own lack of preplanning and lack of responsibility. 

I don't want to be different.  I don't want to have to make a huge deal out of it when people ask why I don't eat cake at birthday parties.  Or when people tease me about reading the lables to everything I eat because they think i'm counting calories.  I don't want to explain why I want the hamburger without the bun, or why I'm eating a ham and cheese "roll up" instead of bread.  I feel like such a hypocondriac everytime the question arises. 

I really don't care what people think,  I just hate having to explain it all.  Right now I feel like I have swallowed a knife that is just cutting into my insides, from my chest all the way down to my intestines.  I feel so bloated that my stomach is going to pop.  My head aches, my engery level is zero, my mind is fuzzy, my stomach is on fire.  I hate this.  I knew it was coming.  I ate brown gravy, not knowing it was brown gravy.  I ate a chicken breast that was covered in brown gravy.  I thought it was something else but why didn't I make sure?  I was hungry. 

About half way through the breast I realized what I was eating and almost threw up.  I can't explain the feeling that came over me becase honestly I don't want to relive it.   Panic.  That's how I'm going to describe it. 

I sat back and waited for it to hit me.  It hit that night in the middle of the night.  The pain.  The nausea.  The stomach trouble.  I'm used to it, but I hate it.  I have no one to blame but myself.  I just wish I didn't feel so alone.  Don't feel sorry for me,  it's my own fault.