I think we can all agree that it sucks to be sick. I think we can all agree that being sick for a long time sucks even more. And what sucks more than that is being sick for a long time, with no shot of getting better. Ever.
I'm in the ranks of those with invisible illnesses. I have asthma, arthritis and I've been diagnosed repeatedly since my teens with depression. I try not to let any of those stop me doing whatever I want, but sometimes shit happens.
There are days when even with the inhalers, I can't draw a deep breath, and I swear if one more jackoff blames my asthma on my fat I will beat them to death with one of those candy bars everyone assumes I'm constantly eating. I've been asthmatic since I was 9, and through various stages of fat and not-fat.
The same goes with the arthritis.
I developed it when I was an incredibly active 12 year old, after screwing up my knee playing kickball in gym. It got worse when I was well and truly in the throes of excercise bulimia in my late teens early 20s, you know, the sort of exercising you do when you get up at 6, eat a cup of yogurt, bike to the jr. high track, run until you have to go throw up in the bushes, and then run some more. Or when you schedule your classes so you can spend 2 hours at the gym every day, then cut classes so you can make it 3. So every time someone tells me "lose weight and my joints will get better" it makes my punching muscles twitchy. I actually hurt far less now than I did at my thinnest.
And as for the depression, there are days where I just can't bring myself to leave my bed, let alone the house. Where even crying seems like too much effort. When all I want to do is lay in bed and stare at the ceiling and wait for whatever is eating my brain to be over.
The thing is, none of these illnesses has easily recognizable physical symptoms that the average lay-person can pick up just looking at me.
Because of my knees I'm not supposed to take stairs if I don't have to. And periodically people will tell me, as I'm waiting for the elevator, that I might lose some weight if I took the stairs occasionally. Now, I can either ignore them or try to explain that my knees are well and truly buggered up because of my history of over-exercising, which is quite frankly none of their fucking business. Yet they stand there and look at me as if waiting for me to leap for the stairs while thanking them for their insight, or for me to offer an explanation that will satisfy them as to why I shouldn't be taking the stairs. More than a few people have been stunned when I informed them that it is incredibly rude to be so presumptuous with someone they don't know, and didn't their mama's raise them better than that.
With the asthma, unless I'm having a full-blown attack, you can' t see that either. And like as not, if I'm wheezing, people will again assume that it's because I'm fat, not because my lungs don't work right and never have.
Let us not even get into depression and the number of times I've been told I'm just doing it for the attention, I could be happy if I wanted to, if I just acted happy my heart will follow, etc... barf, barf, barf. Oh, and my favorite, "You're just depressed because you're fat. If you lost weight, you'd feel better." Yes, because eating disorders and self-imposed starvation are such great salves for other mental health problems, you moron.* Nevermind that I've been trapped in this brain for my entire life and know that I was just a depressed thin as I am fat.
I experienced all of this to an even greater extent after a surgery I had two years ago that entailed five months of prescribed laxative use. The incision was somewhere no one could see it, but developed a complication that necessitated two more surgeries. I lost weight, and my hair. I could barely move. I hurt constantly. I couldn't walk faster than a slow shuffle, or for more than a block without stopping to rest. I was always cold, and on the verge of tears. Did I mention the constant pain? But because people couldn't see the injury, they kept expecting me to just be fine. I finally lost my shit and had a crying screaming fit at my supervisor when she started in on me about not keeping up with everything, wherein I explained that I had a gigantic wound in my ass, I was shitting out every nutrient I ate as fast as I ate it, was losing my hair in clumps and I hurt so fucking much I wanted to die.
Granted, part of the problem was me trying to be stoic, and it still is when it comes to the arthritis and the asthma in particular. My Dad coached sports, and so raised me with a very "walk it off" mentality. "If you ain't bleedin', you ain't hurt." Unfortunately, this means that sometimes when I am bleeding I try to walk it off as well.
But you can't "walk off" things like arthritis, asthma or depression. All you can do is try to figure out what works for you, and keep on keeping on.
*Yes, and here is where people tell me "We're talking about a sensible diet, not starvation." Great, I already eat a sensible diet, from which I've already cut High Fructose Corn Syrup. I don't drink pop, I don't eat candy often. My husband cooks meals using organic veggies, free-range meats, all the stuff you're supposed to do to be virtuous, excuse me, thin. And guess what? STILL FAT. I'm not willing to drop my caloric intake below what is required to sustain life just so someone I don't know can feel more esthetically pleased while looking at my body.
Mickey Schulz is a guest author for the California NOW blog; her opinions are not necessarily those of California NOW. Copyright Mickey Schulz, with permission granted to California NOW for use on this site.
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