Missing Out

When I was 15 I ran away from home. The stress from that triggered a 10kg loss within 2 weeks of my leaving. I was homeless living in hostels and on friends couches and not making great decisions. I was eating only cereals and 2 minute noodles.

Over the next 6 months I got sicker and sicker and sicker. The constant diarrhea and vomiting kept me bed bound which pretty much didn’t get much better over the years. Being a sick and isolated 15 year old girl was not fun. All these doctors wanted to control my body. I felt like I was doomed to live in this depth of torture and darkness forever.

When your in the midst of a flare you can’t remember a single free day without pain.

You can’t remember a time where the hair on your head didn’t hurt. You don’t remember a time before pooing felt like evacuating lava and the moment that poison passed you’d get a split second of feeling okay before the waves of agony came rolling in.


I was still in high school when it got so bad they decided to rest my gut and I was put on a Central Venous Line that fed nutrient directly into my heart. I’d only just scraped by all my compulsive subjects and now in year 11 I was spending the middle of the year in hospital or dragging the IV line around for 14 hours a day.

I wasn’t exactly getting invites to parties and no one came around.

I’d missed those vital years of bonding in high school. Luckily I’d always been a bit of a “floater.” I never stuck to one group and got along with everyone and I just hadn’t made any best friends.

I got older and worked, and then didn’t work, and then did again. I got threatened with firing if i didn’t stop using the toilets so much from my government job even!

By this time I was engaged but to someone who has a horrible person. He had his moments but generally he was pretty much horrible. Good parts being carrying me from toilet to shower because I couldn’t move or even function. We won’t get into the bad. I actually think I stayed because I never thought I was valuable enough to be loved. I thought my disease limited me to accept what I got, that this package was faulty and no one would want it.

Eventually I left, right before my surgery.

I got moments of clarity and moments where I realised that I was worthy and that having an ostomy would give me the opportunity to focus on me and not worry about those who couldn’t accept me. It was like natural selection of the useless friends 😉

The one best friend I have from my childhood was my saviour. She’s my rock and the one person who I am home with. She’s so bloody different to me but she’s been there. She even was the one to walk me into the theatre room for my surgery!

So many times I tried to be a normal functioning young adult. I tried the pub and drinking with it only ending in tears and agony and me rocking on the toilet seat for hours until I plucked up the courage to get off.

Youth was wasted on me.

But I found me after my surgery. Having an ostomy gave me a life, gave me a late blooming youth. Gave me the opportunity to travel and find real love – the kind that doesn’t see you as a defective package!

I hope you have or do find yours.

This article represents the opinions, thoughts, and experiences of the author; none of this content has been paid for by any advertiser. The InflammatoryBowelDisease.net team does not recommend or endorse any products or treatments discussed herein. Learn more about how we maintain editorial integrity here.

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