You may not witness the most challenging moments of my illness because I choose to conceal them from you. When you encounter me, I appear composed; my makeup is flawless, and my hair is neatly styled. Over time, I’ve mastered the art of presenting myself in the best light with minimal effort. I’ve learned how to maintain an appearance of normalcy, despite grappling with an abnormal health condition. I’ll smile, even when pain is coursing through me. I’ll remain silent while my body protests. I do this to blend in and to feel a semblance of normalcy, hoping to spare others from confronting a situation they may not know how to address. In those fleeting moments, I long for the illusion of being well.
You haven’t seen my darkest days because I deliberately keep them hidden. My partner, Alex, and my close friend Jessica witness these struggles, but the nature of my illness compels me to retreat. On particularly bad flare days, my body craves the comfort of home, where I don’t have to force a smile or uphold any facade. So I isolate myself, nestled in my familiar apartment, surrounded by the same walls that bear witness to my battles.
There are very few places I can go on a difficult day, and even fewer on a truly terrible day. I seek out environments where I feel completely secure and understood, spaces where I don’t need to explain my condition. This isn’t out of shame; it’s a necessity when I am at my most vulnerable. However, this choice often leads to misunderstandings about the gravity of my condition.
You’ve never seen me lose consciousness, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. You’ve likely never observed me struggling to catch my breath after a simple shower, but I assure you, it occurs. You may not have witnessed my hands tremble or my complexion pale as I gasp for air just by standing. On those days, I retreat and thus, these realities remain unseen. I assure you, they exist.
I share this perspective because it’s all too easy to assess someone’s condition based solely on what you see during your interactions with them. When you see me, you might wonder why I can’t pursue a conventional job. You may question my passion for writing about chronic illness, perhaps even suspecting that I exaggerate for sympathy. But what you perceive in those brief moments does not reflect the entirety of my experience.
I strive for a sense of normalcy because I dislike being the focus of pity; I don’t want my illness to overshadow my existence. My writing serves to shed light on experiences that are frequently obscured. I aim for readers to understand what occurs in my absence, not only to promote awareness of my situation but also to foster understanding for others who share similar challenges. I want to encourage critical thinking before drawing conclusions based solely on surface appearances.
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Conclusion
In summary, the complexities of living with a chronic illness often remain hidden from view. I conceal my struggles to seek normalcy and avoid unwanted attention, but these experiences are real and impactful. By sharing my story and drawing attention to the nature of my condition, I hope to cultivate empathy and understanding for those who face similar battles.
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