My PTSD has increased over the past couple of months as my weight has decreased. As each jutting bone becomes more pronounced, throbs anew the panic of the past. With chronic digestive distress not unlike the pairing of open wounds and scalding alcohol, I have been shoved down the corridor of the haunting trauma of my TPN days. Having literally nearly starved to death, I am well aware of how one or 2 pounds can be the difference of meeting and untimely grave or creating another sunrise. I know I am not alone in this persistent no nutrition nightmare, and for this I am deeply regretful. The kind of pain that accompanies prolonged malnutrition and chronic digestive torture is truly without words. So, consider this a shout out of support and recognition for the dynamic double digit divas duking it out every day to be nourished.
Many people are unable to receive nourishment enterally and require the use of a central line. To read more about my latest advocacy and awareness campaign about living life on the line, literally, please visit my Instagram