It was quiet when my eyes were closed. It was when I could be at peace despite my world falling to pieces. I could be in the middle of a crowded room, or in busy store, or even now, as I lay on this cold bed in the middle of the local emergency room… With my eyes closed, I could shut the ugliness of the world out, maybe even pretend I was well again.
Not even a week had passed of 2018, and here I was with an IV in my arm, my mom sleeping next to me in a cold hospital chair. As per usual, no one had any idea what was wrong with me. A fate I had grown accustomed to. Leaving five hours later with a prescription for painkillers I’d never fill, and a suggestion to “get some rest”.
My problem is I can never get enough rest. Not if I want to attempt to have a life by any standards. I can’t sleep my life away afterall.
So in that hospital bed I lay with my eyes closed, waiting for no news. And in that quietness I fell asleep, mulling over a dream. A dream I’ve had many times. One that I know now will unlikely come true. Not so much a dream, but more of a memory…
The last memory of my other life.
The life I had before this was all I knew.
A life that wasn’t filled with medications, cold hospital rooms, and the constant threat of more pain, more fatigue, and a new diagnosis every six months.
Furthermore, a life where I would find someone who loved me for me. Where they wouldn’t look at me and see broken. Where they would marry me no matter how many years we may have together. A life with choices, and maybe children.
It was a good dream. But eventually I woke up and opened my eyes… Back to the cold hospital bed, to the doctor telling me she could do no more. Back to my reality.
I slept for a long while that day, once I had climbed back into my own bed, and my mom departed for the long trip home. I was used to this aftermath of hospital visits. Used to the bed rest, dehydration, and exhaustion that inevitably followed. Used to the loneliness, the unbearable loneliness that came with my disease.
But this time something new followed, I was not so alone. He came with food, and hugs, and the support I needed to get through it without falling apart. And in the days that followed, I realised his love allowed me to mull over a new dream.
I’ve been doing a lot of inner reflection lately, and it seems to me that those of us living with chronic illness do a lot of destructive thinking. I don’t think it’s on purpose either. I’m not talking about the inevitable depression and grief that comes with living with chronic disease, that’s a whole other can of worms… I’m talking about the depression we let ourselves slip into.
Rheumatoid Disease is shitty enough on its own, without having added Osteoporosis, Lupus, and Lung Disease to the mix. While I have accepted each of these as they have come, and deal with my diagnosis the best way I know how (smiles and realistic expectations), I find myself under a rain cloud. But it’s a rain cloud of my own conjuring.
There is a point that I think we all go through where we have had enough. The pain has become too great, or we lose support, or medical help, or all of these things, and we start to feel like we want to give up. I’m not talking about ending our lives, but more of an acceptance of defeat. At one point in our illness we accept that it can’t or won’t get better. It seems easier to accept that our disease has won, not only by conquering our body, but also our will.
I realise that recently I have let myself get to this point. And I really do mean I let myself. At some point my loneliness joined forces with the disease destroying my body, and they decided to get married. And instead of dealing with my illness while trying to stay positive, I let myself slip into depression.
See, most people think we (the chronically ill) keep to ourselves because we want to be alone. When most of the time the reality is that we just don’t want to bring anyone down with us. We keep our feelings, pain, and sadness within, convincing ourselves that it’s better this way. In my case, I like to take it a step further by emotionally cutting myself off from others. I guess my logic is that I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, or treating me like I’m broken. But in doing that I end up putting up walls, especially around my heart.
I haven’t been in a romantic relationship in a long time. I’m talking years. Wanna know why?
I wouldn’t let myself.
In hindsight I now see that my logic was really flawed. Because in keeping people at arm’s length, I not only hurt myself, but others around me as well. I started to use my disease as an excuse to not live my life. Not in the giving up sense, but I did throw away opportunities to have meaningful relationships with some great people because I justified to myself that I was saving them from dealing with my health issues. In truth, I was just building my own personal purgatory.
It’s taken me a few years, but I’ve recently seen the light. Maybe not the light at the end of the tunnel, but at least a flashlight that will help me find my way. I realise now that letting people in is important. Sharing how I feel is important. It may not always get you the results you want, but it sure as hell is better than keeping it bottled up inside. I need to not let my disease define me as a person, and I have to remember thank don’t have to walk in this life alone.
No matter how many days I have left, mine is a life meant to be shared. I will climb out of the purgatory of my own making. I will remember I am strong, beautiful, and worthy of happiness.
I know time and time again I have advocated for the fact that being sick is not a competition or a race. We are not in the Pain Olympics, and no one gets a medal for being sicker than someone else. But I have to stomp my foot today and cry out for all my sisters with Rheumatoid Disease and declare “Our colds are not like your colds!”
Its cold season for sure. I can’t get on a bus or be in a doctors waiting room without hearing a sniffle or a muffled cough. A lot of people are sick, and its no ones fault except for maybe the weather and this damn rain that keeps everything damp and chilled. So, we all walk around with crumpled tissues in our pockets, and and extra sweater in our bags, and we look like crap. All of us. No one looks awesome when they have a cold. And everyone, men and women alike, has a little pity party for themselves about how shitty they feel.
Here’s the thing though, having a cold is shitty enough when you’re a regular healthy human. You get a cough, or the sniffles, and a sore throat, and your head becomes a bit fuzzy. Sometimes you gotta stay home from work for a couple days because you feel so lethargic and icky. Eventually after a week or so, your symptoms start to fade, you pull through, and its only a matter of time before you’re having a beer with friends around the corner again.
Let me paint another picture for you though… The picture of what its like to get sick when your entire life is already about being sick. When the cold symptoms start you’re praying that you don’t have the sniffles because of a cold, but maybe because you just breathed in dust from the curtains that you’ll never have the energy to clean. The sore throat starts and you force feed yourself a gallon of OJ because you know you can’t get a cold. But you know, you always know. Because no one knows their body more than someone who lives with a chronic illness.
Colds for us can last as long as three months if we aren’t strong enough to fight it. They can turn into Pneumonia, Bronchitis, Strep, and worse. A week can pass in bed where the only thing we can do is shuffle to the bathroom to pee, and then back into bed so we don’t get chills. Headaches turn to migraines. Those of us with chronic pain can sometimes be blessed by our diseases taking a back seat to let the cold do its worse. But other times we are stricken with flares, whilst also dealing with sore throats, raw noses from blowing too hard, and brain fog. A common two week cold for an average Joe turns into a two month long nightmare. And one of the worst parts is that we often aren’t allowed to get our regular treatments for our chronic diseases if we are fighting a cold or infection. Chemo and biologics have to be put on hold until the current illness clears our system. But they can’t if our flare ups contribute to them. So we get stuck in what seems like a never ending cycle of illness. For days, weeks, months…
So, next time you feel like responding to your friend that suffers from chronic illness that their cold can’t be as bad as that one you had last week…maybe take a moment to think about the differences between your every day life and theirs. Because from where I’m standing, I’d much rather a week long cold than the four weeks and counting cold I’m currently enduring.
If I’m in pain all the time, you may ask is it even worth it, to do the things that I do.
If it’s so painful to run errands, pick up your meds, and go grocery shopping, why do you do it?
If you’re in so much pain, then why get dressed and put make up on, and go out into the world, why not just stay home so that you can sleep and sleep?
If the sickness is as bad as you say, then why bother getting up every day, why don’t you just stay in bed?
If you’re in as much pain as you say, why are you not in a hospital, why aren’t people like you talking about how much pain they are in, and why have we only heard about it from you?
If your disease causes as much weight gain as you say, how come we haven’t seen in it others?
If is not the question you should be asking.
Because IF you truly listened, watched, and heard, you would know the answers to your questions.
That if I didn’t force myself out of bed and do the things I do, I’d become a prisoner inside my body. That if I stayed in bed I would get sicker and sicker as hope would be lost. That I’ve been to the hospital several times already, don’t you remember when I told you? That there are thousands of people around you every day that suffer from sickness, pain, and weight gain due to illness, but that all you see is fat, and so you judge without question.
If you really wanted to help instead of judging, you would look at me with eyes wide open, and see my reality for what it is, instead of judging me for something you refuse to understand.
As a gal living with Rheumatoid Disease, I face challenges day to day, often those challenges being the correction of what people think I have, as opposed to what I actually have. I know, I know, I probably sound like a broken record half of the time, but I wouldn’t have to if people would just LISTEN the first time round. So here I am today, sharing the differences again… Hopefully this time is the charm…
1) “Oh, you have Rheumatoid Arthritis? Everyone has that. I think I might have it.”
No. Correction: “Everyone” does not have that. And trust me when I say, if you have it, you would know.
* First off, the main difference between Rheumatoid Arthritis and Osteoarthritis, which is a much more common variety of arthritis, is the symptoms. Osteoarthritis is caused by the eventual breakdown of joints over time, which is why it’s so common in the elderly. Rheumatoid Arthritis is an autoimmune disease where your body’s immune system actually attacks its own joints. These are two different types of arthritis, that provide two very different outcomes on the body.
Osteoarthritis is the most common form of arthritis. When most people are referring to arthritis, osteoarthritis is typically the form they are talking about. While Osteoarthritis is known to affect the elderly the most, it can happen in younger ages as well. It’s based on the wear and tear of the cartilage of your joints, so weight gain, joint injury, work that engages using your joints often, and genetics, can also play a role in getting this form of Arthritis.
Rheumatoid Arthritis, or Rheumatoid Disease, is more common in women, even more so after the age of 40. But it’s not only limited to that age, obviously, and also is seen in younger children, known as Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. Rheumatoid Arthritis is an autoimmune disease that causes pain, stiffness, and swelling in the joints. The most commonly affected joints are the hands, wrists, feet, knees, elbows, ankles, and shoulders. But this disease is a double edged sword, as it not only causes pain through the inflammation of those joints, but also affects your body’s organs and immune system as well.
So unlike Osteoarthritis, which causes pain in the joints, and stiffness in movements, Rheumatoid Disease also attacks the body. So on top of pain, stiffness, swelling, and decreased mobility over time, patients with severe Rheumatoid Arthritis also have to deal with decreased immune systems, that make us vulnerable to life threatening illnesses. Our disease also opens us up to bone thinning, which can in turn lead us to Osteoporosis, another disease that I now have because of RA. I have to administer a daily injection into my belly with a sharp, painful needle, to deliver a medication called Forteo into my blood stream. Every single day. And, yes, it does hurt.
Patients can also get heart disease, stroke, several forms of cancer, lung problems, tuberculosis, anemia, and vasculitis, just to name a few. As well as host a laundry list of other issues including, but not limited to, depression and anxiety disorders.
So, please, before you open your mouth to state that “everyone ” has my disease, or in fact that you have it too, when you don’t, just think about the truth of your statement. Because blurting out incorrect facts to a person with a legitimate disease is beyond frustrating, and tends to make you look the fool.
2) If you exercised more, you wouldn’t be sick.
You know how people cringe when they hear certain sounds? Like nails on a chalkboard, or a metal chair being scraped back on a hard floor? Sounds like that tend to pull an involuntary response from us, a shudder, or a full body tense-up, that leaves us uncomfortable and stiff. Well, that tends to happen to me anytime I hear the phrases:
“If you exercised more you’d…
“If you were vegan or vegetarian, I bet your disease would go away…
“Healthy people don’t get sick, so you’re just living unhealthy…
Remember how I just talked about not wanting you to look the fool? Well, you might wanna go back and read through that again. First of all, there are THOUSANDS of people who have thought they were living completely healthy, active lives, who’ve turned around one day, and (BAM) they have cancer! In fact I just caught an Uber ride-share a few weeks ago, and my driver told me his sister had just passed away from stage 4 pancreatic cancer. He was of course devastated, but even more so because his sister had no idea she was sick until the very end! She lived an extremely healthy and active lifestyle, taking part in countless marathons and triathlons, and was funnily enough, vegan.
I understand that it is very trendy right now to be vegan, gluten free, vegetarian/pescetarian, wheat free, raw diet, green living, wonder hippies. I’ve seen the articles, read the magazines, watched the reality shows. I’ve seen the celebrities with their mats in one hand, being photographed on the way to Bikram yoga, with their kale chia smoothies in the other. Everyone is skinny and toned and tanned. Well, I might be too if I had a hundred thousand dollars a year to spend on a personal trainer, personal chef/nutritionist/dietician, have a sun bed in my home gym, and could afford the new Kate Hudson clothing line. Then again, maybe I couldn’t.
I’ve been sick for almost four years now. But truth be told, in that first year, diet and exercise wasn’t a large concern for me. I was still fairly active, going on walks and hikes, and weekend trips to the beach happened more often than not. But I was still eating fast food, and junk food, and basically whatever I wanted. Prednisone had not yet affected my weight, like I had been warned it would, and I was still fairly slim, and curvy.
It wasn’t until year two, and now three, that my weight drastically changed. I developed Cushingoid, also referred to as Moon Face, which meant my cheeks and chin ballooned out, causing my eyes to look sunken in, and everything else to just look fat. I gained 75lbs over the course of two years, that rested mostly in my belly and breasts. And once the weight gain became noticeable I completely switched my diet. I cut out soda, fatty snacks, trips through the drive-thru, candy, and a lot of carbs. I started drinking more water, eating tons of fruit and vegetables, and only eating healthy proteins, and very little carbs. The thing about Prednisone though… is as long as you’re on it, you’re going to keep gaining weight. My doctors have told me I could be eating the tiniest amount of food possible to get by, and be working out hours upon hours a day, but if I’m still taking steroids, I might as well be eating all that junk I gave up. I’m still going to gain weight. Now, will I actually keep eating that junk? No, of course not. I like my diet now. I like my fruits and vegetables. I like drinking water and tea instead of coke. And I love cooking for myself, which means I control what I put in my body.
I live a pretty healthy lifestyle right now. The other night at my family’s home, I ate a giant serving of Kale salad to start, followed by 2 oz of roast chicken, half a roasted red potato, and 6 spears of asparagus. I was full. And I refused dessert later on as well. Not because I’m dieting, but because I truly did not want it. I was still full from dinner, and didn’t need sweets to end my evening. I’ve learned that I do better “grazing”, eating small healthy meals throughout the day, instead of 3 large ones. And as I said before, I snack mostly on fruits, vegetables, and healthy proteins now. I truly cannot remember the last time I went to McDonalds, or ate a bag of chips.
So to recap… I eat a healthy, well rounded diet, that leans more towards Vegetatian than Omnivore. I get regular exercise when my body allows it, usually 3-4 times a week if I’m feeling good, and 1-2 when I’m struggling with pain. I drink well over 8 glasses of water a day, as well as juice and tea. While I love dessert, I never overindulge, usually only eating something of the sweeter variety 2-3 times a week, and only in moderation. And I take care of my body, meaning I use a fantastic skincare regimen by R+F on my face, I moisturize my limbs daily, and exfoliate dead skin as needed. For a “sick” person, I do more than the average patient in attempts to stay as healthy as possible and not add to the stress my body is already under. So PLEASE think before you speak when you tell me I would be cured if only I lived a healthier life. Because I’m betting if you really knew me, you’d be surprised to learn how very healthy I am, despite my incurable disease. Hell, I might even be healthier than you!
3) You should just go off your meds. I bet you would feel better if you stopped taking so many drugs.
When people tell me this, I have a really hard time with the struggle to not hit them in the face. The rage that consumes me runs deep, that’s how very serious I take this comment.
Going off of pain medication isn’t like the decision to stop taking Advil for your work-related headaches. It’s not like switching to a different multivitamin. And it’s certainly not a decision that can be made on the fly because you’re not a fan of Big Pharma. To be clear, I am not a fan either. But for now, Big Pharma is responsible for keeping me ALIVE.
I have gone off my meds on purpose, twice, in the last three and a half years. And to be clear, I didn’t even stop them cold turkey. I tapered down slowly, per recommended guidelines given by my doctors. However, that didn’t matter. My body freaked out from the withdrawal of much needed medicines. Medicines, that sole purpose is to keep me mobile, that help me walk and live an active life. I stopped talking them, or rather aggressively cut the dose down because I was tired of the side effects. Prednisone, for example, has caused 75lbs of weight gain, and while I remain on it, I continue to gain weight.
I had an appointment with a Neutologist last month, whom told me that as long as I’m on prednisone, I could be the healthiest woman alive, and it would mean nothing. I could starve myself, eat less than 500 calories a day, exercise until I bleed, and if I’m still taking he steroid, I will still gain weight. That kind of fact is hard for me sometimes. I hate looking at this body that I don’t feel is mine. And when I get really down about it, sometimes I think ‘why not just go off my meds?’
But every time I do, I end up in the hospital, with either catastrophic withdrawal symptoms, or worse… to be clear, none of us want to be in the hospital. It’s not like a vacation from reality, or a chance to ‘take naps all day’ like one idiot suggested. Being in the hospital sucks.
It’s all also extremely expensive. So before you think about commenting on how my life would be better if I went cold turkey on all my meds… I want you to stop and really think about what you’re telling me to do. You are asking me to not only put my life in danger, but also possibly die. And for all of you out there who don’t have chronic illnesses or diseases, none of us “sick people” have a death wish. We actually want to get better.
So yeah, maybe I am a broken record. Maybe I have told you and others many times what is and isn’t okay to say to someone like me. I’m just hoping one of these days it’s going to stick. That one day, hopefully not too far in the distant future, I can have a conversation with someone that doesn’t involve their “great advice”. Because at the end of the day, unless you have the letters MD attached to the end of your name, your “advice” is more harmful than you know. Stick with what you do know. Be a friend. Be helpful. Listen. Read medical journals if you truly want to know about my disease. Read facts that don’t come from Yoga magazine or from your fave celebrities’ hairdressers best friends nutritionist who knows a guy that had a girl who has what I have. Stop talking about what you don’t know, and concentrate on what you do.’you have a friend who is ill, and she just needs you to listen, be kind, be thoughtful, and just be there.
Being a girl in this day and age is tough. We deal with more and more complex issues and problems than any of our predecessors. It’s not just Mars vs Venus anymore, or girls vs boys. We live in a world fueled by social media, where our lives and personal information is viewable for everyone to see, sometimes whether we want it to be or not. There are more and more health issues for women to worry about now than ever before, and statistics rising on female-cancer related deaths. We now live in a world obsessed with skin, the body, and sex, which unfortunately has driven up the number of sexual assaults and rape on women, and this is every country, not just the US. Young girls are going to school and being shamed by their teachers and mentors for wearing tank tops or shorts because it distracts the male sex, as if the female population alone should be blamed for the sick impulses of perverted boys and men.
I used to think the lamest part about being a girl was that we had to basically become demons once a month while our bodies congratulated us on not procreating just yet. I had a particularly bad go of this, starting the “red death” on my 13th birthday (what a great present), and suffering on a brutal scale for what would be many years ahead. My periods were so bad at times that I would have to stay home from school, and prompted my mom on more than one occasion to consider medical intervention. When I turned 18, despite the fact that I wasn’t having sex yet, I went right onto an injectible birth control known to disappear the monthly burden for years at a time. I was so happy to finally have that awful pain in the past, naively thinking that I was free from feeling pain like that again. Yea, as I admitted myself, it was naive.
As my 20s came and went I dealt with more female annoyances through the years. Unknowingly contracting HPV from a sexual dalliance at some point, and in turn dealing with the stress and concern of a possible cervical cancer issue. After two rounds of cryotherapy, and multiple biopsies over the years, I am now cancer free (or rather my uterus is). The last decade also brought more regular female nuisances like common infections due to living in a warm climate, and the every now and then PMS related migraine.
And then there’s just the everyday crap that girls have to deal with because of what we were born with. I’d love for men to deal with underwire bras everyday, and the dreaded pantyline under the skirt scenario that is a regular part of our lives. Trying to find a good bathing suit to match our “body type” and deciding each year if we are a winter or a fall for the new clothing lines. Standing at the cosmetics counter at Walgreens and making the snap decision between Compact 01 or 02, when both look the exact same color. Or making the unfortunate choice with the pink red lipstick instead of the red red lipstick because pink red now definitely clashes with dress that looked epic in the changing room at Macy’s but now has the distinct look of mutton dressed as lamb. I’d love for men to experience just once what PMS really feels like, or deal with the discomfort of the array of pimples that have now formed on the chest due to boob sweat.
My point is being a girl is hard. But you know what’s even harder? Being a girl with Rheumatoid Arthritis, or fibromyalgia, or lupus, or any other chronic, debilitating autoimmune disease that has ruined our lives! Now on top of the day to day hardships of just living, you have to add chronic pain, exhaustion, and physical and mental stress.
In my particular case having Rheumatoid Disease brought on a host of new issues…. like my red death taking a permanent vacation. That’s right, I’m 34 years old and am going through “early onset menopause”. My doctors think it’s probably due to the rounds of chemotherapy I had over the last two years. Chemotherapy has been known to kick start menopausal symptoms in women. I got the whole shebang: hot flashes, night sweats followed by cold chills, mood swings, crying over nothing, zero libido, weight gain, strange hair growth on my face (ew), and insomnia.
Getting dressed on a regular day can be a frustrating feat for the average woman, but doable. For a woman dealing with Rheumatoid Disease, getting dressed is sometimes impossible. I can’t fasten my bra when I’m having a pain flare in my wrists, because it’s too painful. And of course I’ve tried other ways, like fastening it in front, or using sports bras. Each way has its own list of painful grievances, and that’s just the bra. Then you have to decide if today will be the kind of day you can continually fasten the buttons and zips on your shorts/jeans, or is it easier to just wear a lightweight dress? And all of this is only based on whether I was able to successfully shower beforehand. There’s nothing like sobbing under the showerhead because it’s too painful to squirt out shampoo/conditioner/shower gel onto your hands that are stuck in a claw, unable to move without screaming pain.
I guess at the end of the day no one’s life is perfect. Sick or healthy, we all have obstacles to face on a daily basis. I only wish mine were less, or maybe just more manageable. It’s hard being a 34 year old woman going through menopause when I can’t even dress myself on bad pain days. I always figured I’d deal with these things when I was much I was older, with years of maturity under my belt ( that hopefully I was able to clasp on my own).
Being a girl is rough, for sure. Being a girl with Rheumatoid Disease, is damn near impossible.
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The other day I read an interesting story on Arthritis.net about “faking symptoms”. Truth be told, at first I was a little annoyed that it sounded like someone was talking about exaggerating their symptoms because I feel like I face the stigma of that every day. People that I come into contact with are constantly second guessing what I tell them, not understanding the severity of my disease because of how I look on the outside. The constant annoyance of having an ‘invisible illness’, it’s exhausting. Everyday, even if I’m having a terrible, terrible pain flare, I look completely normal (besides the obvious Prednisone weight gain that is). The only way you could truly see if I was very ill is if I show you the pain on my face, or if I’m limping, or if you caught me during a bout of nausea.
Back to the online article.
So as I started to read this article on ‘faking it’s I realised my initial thoughts on it were wrong. The woman writing the story was indeed talking about something I find myself doing all the time, faking symptoms to make people thing I’m better than I am. I guess it stems from my pride, from not wanting to appear weak, or vulnerable, or small. But the woman was right, I do in fact fake it with family and friends all the time, just not in the way they’d think.
A good example of this is just the day before yesterday, Thanksgiving Day. I woke up that morning around 5am already crying. My pillow was wet with tears, and the second I tried to move I knew why. I was having an excruciating flare. I couldn’t even keep from crying out as I moved from my bed to the bathroom. Every step felt like my feet had been bashed in by a sledge hammer, Kathy Bates of Misery style. My shoulders felt dislocated, my hands crushed into a thousand pieces, my rib cage heavy and pained, as if the very bones were a cage for 50lbs weights that were tossed around as I attempted to move. I worried about how I was going to accomplish helping my sisters cook the big thanksgiving feast.
That’s when the faking it started. I cried while making myself a pot of tea, everything taking longer as it was agony to move at all. Then it occurred to me to make breakfast for my family since we had to get up so early. And sure, it took me quite a while to accomplish it as the pain was brutal, but an hour later Apple Croissants were packaged into Tupperware to take to my dad’s house. The mere act of that alone was agonisingly painful, and I’m not sure why I even put my body through it. The ordeal of trying to open the crescent roll tube was a sobbing matter. So why? Why didn’t I just stay in bed for an extra hour and rest and not aggravate my pained body?
Pride. I didn’t want to be seen as vulnerable or weak or pathetic. I wanted to be seen as strong and capable, someone who can overcome the odds of a severe and debilitating disease, someone who was winning.
Later at my family’s house I continued to push myself despite the pain. Swearing I could do the work even though every step, every movement, was agony. They asked how I was and I’d shrug it off with comments like “I’m fine” or “Don’t worry, I can push through”.
I took a nap in the early afternoon to regain composure for the coming evening celebration. As soon as the door was closed and locked I could be the real me again. Wipe the plastic smile from my face, let the exhaustion and pain show. I lay on the bed and slowly registered every pain, every feeling of brokenness, and continued to do so until the exhaustion took over and I passed out. But not even two hours of rest can expel the pain. Eventually I had to rise again, shower, change, and paint my face with a look that I hoped would convey “Everything is fine”.
It was only much much later, when I was home again and in bed, staring at the ceiling as silent tears slid down the curve of my cheeks, did I wonder why on earth I had put myself through that.
I’m not helping anyone, including myself, when I “fake it”. If anything, I am the cause of people thinking I’m faking it for real all those other times. My pride is damaging my credibility as a person with a severe illness. If people always see me smiling and saying everything is fine, well of course they will be suspicious of any real pain I experience. They won’t understand why I’m fine one minute and in pain the next. Because I’m showing them that it’s painful sometimes and other times it not. But that’s a lie. It’s always pain. I’m always in agony. I always hurt.
If I saw someone walking normally one day, and the very next I saw them limping and asked ‘hey what happened?’ and they told me that in fact both days they were in pain, but they were only showing the limp today, well I’d assume something fishy was going on. And that’s basically what I’ve been doing.
In my pride, I’ve not wanted people to see how truly sick I am. Last night as my mom and I discussed it, I came to the root of my problem. Yes, it does have to do with pride, and not wanting to constantly be seen as ‘sick’, but it’s also something else entirely. Something I hadn’t realized before, but was so painfully obvious.
I don’t want to be seen as the ‘sick person’ not just because it makes me weak, but also because it excludes me. Being labeled as ill automatically puts me into this group where I don’t get included anymore. Don’t fight me on this, because it’s totally true. I’ve received less invitations for group activities like beach days, bbqs, dinner parties etc. I rarely get asked out on dates anymore, which was never a problem in the past. I’m not the friend that people automatically turn to for a fun addition to an activity. And that always used to be me.
Once I realised this phenomena was taking place, I think that’s when my bout of ‘faking it’ really came to life. It was to counteract boredom. If I showed everyone I was better than I was then I would be included again. Sure enough, I was part of the laughs and stories and jokes in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. I’d been invited recently to more group social activities. I’ve even had a date recently. All because I tucked away my illness for no one to see. In a sense I hid the present me to bring back past me for everyone’s enjoyment. Everyone’s enjoyment but my own that is. Because it is exhausting hiding my pain. It’s painful hiding pain. What the hell Christine? What are you doing?
So now that I have come to terms with the stupidity of my actions… I’m stopping them. It’s time to just be me, pain and suffering and all. And if it’s confusing suddenly seeing me in a bad state all the time you can just tell yourself I was like this all along, that I hid it for your comfort but that those days have ended. I only work for myself now.
My exhaustion, my pain, my agony, will show on my face as I live it. As I experience it, so shall everyone experience me. The days of faking it have ended. I am thankful to that woman who wrote the article and brought my silly actions to light. The case of the Fake Christine has ended. Now what you see is what you get. Sorry if that’s depressing or hard to handle, but feel better in knowing it’s far less than what I deal with every minute of every day.
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