In our latest Mental Health Matters column, a few words on living with a chronic illness, and the day-to-day involved.
Today I am exhausted, ill, and in pain. For anyone who knows me, there will be eye-rolling, and murmurs of ‘what’s new?’ The answer is nothing – nothing is new.
There is still a lot of unknowns and stigma around invisible and chronic illnesses. Part of that is a lack of understanding around chronic illnesses and disabilities even within the medical field. Diagnoses are like gold dust.
But life with a chronic condition is exceptionally hard. Not only are there the physical symptoms and mental strain of dealing with something every single day, but it makes it harder for people to sympathise or empathise too much. After declaring “everything hurts” for the thousandth time, even I’m sick of hearing it.
However, it is nothing compared to dealing with it.
There is a meme that I have seen in a few variations, but that all amount to the same sentiment; If I don’t tell you I am ill, I am ill. If you can’t see that I am ill, I am ill. If I tell you I am ill, I feel like I am dying.
This applies to practically anyone with any ongoing condition.
On any given day I, myself, am constantly dealing with pain from my mid-back to my toes, headaches, nausea, sore throat, difficulty walking, and constantly exhausted in such a way that cannot be described. Some days are better than others, but they are all constant and sometimes there are added symptoms on top.
When looking at me out and about, people see a pale, overweight woman leaning on crutches while shuffling along the street and stifling a yawn. It sucks and in order to fight through it I find myself mentally listing all the things they’re not seeing. They don’t see how badly I need to vomit or pass out, they don’t notice how often I sip water or suck on a boiled sweet to keep my sore throat lubricated so I can speak, and they don’t know it feels like half the bones in my body are crumbling to dust. They don’t realise I am running on anything from zero to three hours sleep, on average, per night. They rarely see the panic attacks or the periods of dissociation as my body and mind battle it out. And they don’t see the days when I am too incapable of moving that I avoid food and drink in order to avoid moving to the kitchen. (Or the bathroom.)
And then come the comparisons. “Talk to me about foot pain when you’ve done a ten-hour shift” or “try running around after four kids all day, then you’ll be tired”. And the age old “I know that feeling – I get [common symptom] sometimes, too”.
Believe me, if I felt capable of working a long shift with many children while having a headache, I’d feel like a superhero. I’d feel like all the superheroes, combined. Superhuman. Just… super.
But the sad reality for many of us is that we are ill, and we are suffering. It is constant. Continual. Chronic. Our lives are harder than words that convey, and anything you are able to see is not even a fraction of what we’re dealing with. We are an iceberg, and you’re only seeing the tip.
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If someone is telling you they have a chronic condition, or they are complaining about a specific symptom, try to understand that this is our daily life. If we are vocalising our discomfort, inside we’re screaming. Our ‘good days’ would send most people to the GP. All we need is a little empathy.
And maybe a cookie.
Cookies always help.
