The Truth Always Comes Out

"What the fuck?" Jackson barks in his confusion. "That's a piss poor excuse, Kat. Let me break it to you, we are all going to die someday. It is hardly a surprise."

How do I explain this to Jackson? I have been keeping people at arm's length for this very reason for the last five years, and I don't have a clue how to get through to him. "What do you see when you look at me?" My voice cracks as I look at Jackson.

"Kat, I'm confused. I don't understand what you are asking me."

"You see an ordinary girl. On the outside, I'm like everyone else. But on the inside…" I can't help my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my top as I drop my gaze to the floor.

My eyes fill with tears but take a deep breath. "My mum died of bowel cancer when I was eighteen. Six weeks later my dad died as well. They said it was a heart attack, but my sister and I knew differently; he died of a broken heart. Her diagnosis came too late for anyone to do anything, and we had to watch her fade away in front of us. It was just too much for my dad to take; she was the love of his life and they had been together since they were fourteen. I was left to raise my sixteen-year-old sister who cried through the night for years for the parents she had lost.

"Then when I was twenty-three, I started losing weight. I was exhausted all the time, but I just put it down to stress. And that was when I saw the blood for the first time." Jackson pales at my words.

"My mum's history meant that when I finally admitted that there was an issue, they rushed me through the tests. I was terrified that I would have to tell my baby sister that there was a chance she might lose me as well. But, it wasn't cancer. In a way, it was worse. Inflammatory Bowel Disease." The look on Jackson's face shows he doesn't have a clue.

"Most people have heard of Crohn's…"

"Ah," Jackson sighs.

"But what I have is the other side of the coin. Ulcerative colitis is another type of Inflammatory Bowel Disease. It's pretty much what it sounds like. Ulcers in my colon. Pretty glamorous, right?

"Okaaayyyy, but I don't really see why this would be a problem between us" Jackson runs a hand through his hair in agitation.

"The thing is, ulcerative colitis has no cure. They aren't even sure what causes it. On the outside, I look like everyone else, but on the inside, it's like my body is at war with itself. It's taken a long time to stabilise my condition. For the first year after I was diagnosed, I could barely get out of bed most days. The ulcers mean I don't absorb nutrients from my food so I ended up with various vitamin deficiencies and even ended up in hospital twice. At one point they even thought that they would have to remove part of my bowel, that I would end up with a colostomy bag…"

I hate having to explain this. When I am going through a good spell, I can almost fool myself into believing that there's nothing wrong with me. This conversation is dredging up all kinds of memories that I would rather stay buried. Taking a deep breath I continue, "So while most of the time things are okay, I still have relapses when my body can't cope."

"You are going to have to help me out here, Kat. Because nothing you are telling me gives me a reason why you don't want to be in a relationship."

"So, here's the graphic part…I warn you…It's going to get disgusting," I say with a snort deciding to lay it out for him while Jackson looks confused. "The colitis means my colon doesn't work properly. When the ulcers flare, they create mucus that coats the walls of my colon. When this happens, I end up with diarrhoea. Really bad squits that can last months. I'm talking about not being able to be more than two minutes' walk away from a toilet at any given time because the cramps will come on so suddenly that if I'm not able to go immediately I will poop myself. And that has happened on more than one occasion actually.

"It's pretty hard to have a relationship with someone when you can't leave the house because you don't know if there will be a toilet nearby. Or to explain to them that no, you are not making excuses, but you are bone-tired and there's no way you can go out drinking all night. Or how about, sorry, I really don't feel like sex because I have spent the last three days on the loo and the ring of my arse is on fire and I don't want your penis anywhere near me right now?

"Trust me, guys don't want anything to do with that. They want crazy Kat. They want the barmaid that flirts with them and gives them great head. They want a girl who is up for the party, the fun girl who does crazy things like jumping off the quayside for a dare. No one is going to opt in for nights on the sofa watching me stumble to the loo every five minutes."

I pause and take a breath as I try to control my emotions. "It's an invisible disease and the reality is that it will never go away. I can manage it with medication, yoga and vitamins but I still have flare-ups when I least expect them. And in all likelihood, I will develop the cancer that killed my mother at some point which will then be a whole other fight."

I glance down at Jackson and see his eyes have become glassy. "So, you see, I can't and won't drag another person into that hellscape. I could never do that to someone. Let them invest their time and heart with me because it will only end in heartache. So now you know my secrets, the truth." This comes out with more bitterness than I had intended causing Jackson to take a step back. I use the opportunity to stride across the room and place my hand on the door handle. "You deserve happiness, Jackson. So, please, let me walk out this door and out of your life because it is the best thing for everyone."

I see Jackson's jaw working furiously, but he says nothing.

"Goodbye, Jackson," I whisper, my voice breaking as I attempt to hold in my tears, before exiting the room swiftly. I make it as far as the end of the corridor before I break down into deep, noisy sobs. I carry on walking, though, ignoring the strange looks I am getting from the various staff milling around until I find a ladies' loo and dive into a cubicle where I let the emotion pour out of me.