It’s easier for me to write than it is to talk.
Towards the end of last week, while I was at work, I was given some insurance claim forms to fill out. Since I’ve been sick, I needed to fill them up again. I asked for my sick days record for this year, just to get a view on my outstanding claims and what have yous. And…
I was stunned.
As it turned out, since the start of 2013, I’ve been sick…
EVERY. SINGLE. MONTH.
I didn’t realize nor did I take notice of this until I saw the records in black and white.
I felt utterly dismayed.
People always tell me that it will get better, that things will get better. I have always believed that but I guess there are times when I can’t help but wonder, when will that be?
It’s a sad revelation…I knew I’ve been sick but…every month? And not realizing that gave me the impression that I’m probably so used to feeling sick now that I can no longer tell the difference nor can I keep track of it. And that is sad. It really is.
I didn’t notice it but some of my colleagues did. While we were having lunch together last Friday, one happened to mention it.
‘Why do you always seem to get sick so easily? Every month you get fevers and you seem to come down with the flu. Are you okay?’
I sat there with a blank stare. I was caught off guard, not knowing what to say. I managed to come up with something, without having to disclose my health issues. See, I do not want to reveal so much of my health struggles to those around me. I don’t want to be treated differently. I don’t want that…the look of pity when people see I’m not well…I just don’t like it. I’m still alive. I am breathing. I am not dying…and I don’t want to be treated like I am.
The conversation was cut short when our food was served. No one else thought much about it but I did. It bothered me.
Every day when I wake up, I need to observe and check if I’m feeling okay. And this is my life. And I worry that as I get older, my tolerance for pain may not be as it is now. And when I’m sick, I can’t help but wonder if this is my life, for the rest of my life.
Whenever someone asks me if I’m okay, I usually have to lie. And then I feel bad. But realistically, how do you answer that same question with ‘not too good’ 4 out of 7 days of the week? People will ask more questions and they’ll think you’re either faking it or you probably just want attention. Even worse, they may grow tired of you and think you’re just whining, you’re toxic and you complain too much. I know because this is my life.
And so I find solace in writing. If you happen to read my blog, I thank you. If you find yourself repulsed, then, well, you don’t have to read more of it. No one gets hurt, right? That’s why it’s easier to write. See?
I understand that I’m not easy to be around. I feel sick and my family doesn’t always get it. They get frustrated with me when I’m laying in bed during the weekend, not wanting to be bothered, not wanting to go out because I’m feeling exhausted.
Then they ask why.
Then I have to explain.
Then they don’t get it.
And then they insist.
And then I still don’t want to go out.
And then they get frustrated.
And then I get frustrated.
My family means well and I know it’s not easy for them as well. And it gets to me. When I try to go out and have fun with them while I’m feeling sick, I usually have to pay the price when I get home. I don’t like to talk about it so much…how I don’t feel well. It’s the same conversation. It gets tedious for me, too.
I am fortunate to have some good friends who keep me grounded. I will write a follow up post about these amazing women later on.
It’s easier for me to write because I can pour my heart out into my writings and not feel bad about it. I don’t have to worry about becoming a pest. I don’t have to worry about becoming a burden. I just write and let it all out. And then hope for a better tomorrow.
A glimpse of my life.
A reminder to always be grateful.