Letters like this are always hard to start, partly because of all the happy memories that come to the surface and make me want to rethink writing this. But -- oh wait -- that's right, we don't HAVE any happy memories. So this will be easy.
It started young. The sleepovers I missed, the play dates I canceled, the frantic looks on friends' parents' faces when I clutched my stomach and turned green in the middle of lunch at McDonald's. I was dubbed with a "nervous stomach," and thus the labels started. The so-called "nervous stomach" did not stop through middle school, or even through high school, and lord knows it didn't stop into college. I mean, could I not move back ONE semester without curling into a ball and praying for a stomach transplant the first day? Really, Body. It was college. If anything I should've had stomachaches for another, less-legal reason, not because I had a "nervous stomach."
Then things went from bad to worse. The so-called "nervous stomach" became an every-day-every-minute-every-hour stomach, where food became the enemy and long nights were spent curled in the fetal position in a constant prayer to the stomach gods. What small animal did I have to sacrifice to get a little relief? Badgers? Rabbits?
Then came the real kicker, the "beginning of the end," as I call it -- the doctors. Oh, their intentions were honorable, their tests were given with the firmest of beliefs that we would find a "solution". But after 4 -- yes, FOUR, Body. Remember? -- years of tests, exams, nasty-crap liquids, and IV's, it always resulted in the same thing: "We didn't find anything. But we'd like to do another test..."
You were finicky. You were selfish. You acted sick and upset until the MOMENT before a test. You teased me. You refused to digest anything, ANYTHING, for years. You treated me like some disposable carrying case for your own personal fun-and-games. And now, NOW, you dare to contract stomach virus after stomach virus, as though the YEARS of nausea and pain weren't enough? You dare to develop a weak immune system as though I haven't been tip-toeing around you my entire life?
Well, Body, this should come as no surprise then. I'm breaking up with you. I've had enough of your abuse, your insensitivity, your cruelty. I've had enough of your interruptions. I've spent far too many nights making excuses for you, missing out on events because of you. You, quite frankly, suck at being healthy, and I deserve to eat whatever the hell I want and not cry about it later.
Don't let the door hit you on the way out,