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In my recent to-be-read pile, two books jumped out at me. One called ‘Normal People‘ by Sally Rooney. The other was ‘Very Nearly Normal‘ by Hannah Sunderland.

As I noticed them, I began to ruminate over the word ‘normal.’

Normal, defined as “conforming to a standard, usual, typical, or expected.”

It is a word that the majority of us aspire to be; to fit in with whichever peer group we wish to be a part of, and accepted. However, for many, it is not a word that they feel applies to them, or which they can relate. 

As a consequence of living with a neurological disorder from a very young age, with strange and unusual symptoms, normal is not something I ever felt I am or a word that resonated with me.

In truth, ‘normal; isn’t a word that I have ever resonated with, particularly after the commencement of the symptoms that would go onto have a significant impact on my life. But even before then, I often felt that I didn’t quite fit in, or that I wasn’t normal. I never seemed to like the same things other kids my age were into and always seemed to be much more introverted than others my age.

"In truth, 'normal; isn't a word that I have ever resonated with, particularly after the commencement of the symptoms that would go onto have a significant impact on my life." Share on X

Perhaps, it was just part of ordinary childhood; I don’t know. But what I do know that these feelings never went away, and becoming a constant theme in my life.

Beginning To Live A Not So Very Normal Life

Even what I thought was normal, such as the trembling and general feeling of weakness in the legs. Having experienced such sensations from such a young age, I naively assumed that everyone lived with such sensations.

But when diagnosed with a chronic illness, it is much akin to finding oneself landed on an alien planet. A strange, new world that we are unable to escape from, unable to return to the normality we knew.  And as we are unable to leave, we begin to build a home and a life on this alien planet. Slowly it becomes our new normal, and a home that no longer feels alien.

"When diagnosed with a chronic illness, it is much akin to finding oneself landed on an alien planet. A strange, new world that we are unable to escape from, unable to return to the normality we knew."   Share on X
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And when living with a chronic illness, the unusual and disabling symptoms that we experience slowly becomes the norm and part of our daily lives. Life with chronic illness becomes the new normal.  Often, it becomes such a part of every day that we can no longer remember life before illness suddenly entered our lives.  Nor can we remember what it was not to endure such unyielding and debilitating symptoms.  

"When living with a chronic illness, the unusual and disabling symptoms that we experience slowly becomes the norm and part of our daily lives. Slowly becoming the new normal." Share on X "It becomes such a part of every day that we can no longer remember life before illness suddenly entered our lives.  Nor can we remember what it was not to endure such unyielding and debilitating symptoms." Share on X

Always Foreseeing The Unnormality Of This Chronic Life

I have always foreseen, and currently envisioning the un-normality of a life living with a chronic illness. It is evident by observing everybody else around me, living life without the difficulties I continually face.  Their existence not blighted by cruel, relentless, and debilitating symptoms, unlike that of mine.  

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Staring out the window and watching people busily walking and carrying out errands often makes me wonder how they can do so, without feeling the ill effects that I do such as pain, dizziness, or fatigue? For me, it seems so abnormal but in fact the norm for so many.

Watching people, taking long walks, I wonder how they can do so without being met by excruciating sharp pain radiating down their spine and legs. Or being out in vast, open spaces without the feeling of intense dizziness suddenly overwhelming them.  Or being out alone without the worry of legs suddenly giving out from under you, leaving them in a heap on the fall, unable to get up, and left humiliated by a body that is failing them.

"Watching people, taking long walks, I wonder how they can do so without being met by excruciating sharp pain radiating down their spine and legs. Or being out without the feeling of intense dizziness suddenly overwhelming them." Share on X

I find myself plagued by such thoughts as I am unable to remember I time when I didn’t experience such symptoms.  These symptoms have become such a part of my everyday life, that it has become my personal normal. Now, if such symptoms suddenly disappeared, it would feel abnormal.  

Living with a chronic illness, our normal is strange and unnatural to everybody else. And the normal for everyone else, for us, becomes odd and peculiar. On those rare good days, with no or very few symptoms, they can feel strange and bizarre, almost like trying on a wrong size pair of shoes.

"Living with a chronic illness, our normal is strange and unnatural to everybody else. And the normal for everyone else, for us, becomes odd and peculiar." Share on X

An Upbringing of Symptoms and Unusuality

Do you remember the days of childhood? Those blissful happy, carefree days where it felt that you had no worries, or obstacles blocking your way forward.  When experiencing strange and debilitating symptoms from a young age, they had a part in our upbringing alongside our parents and other close family members. 

The promise of care-free childhood usually promises a time free of limitations, a time of freedom, and fitting-in. But when living with symptoms, even when you are unaware of its origins, you become only too aware of the limitations of your body. And the fragility of life.  The promises of childhood snatched away, becoming no stranger to what makes you different.  

It often feels that the symptoms I experience as a result of FND was much a part of my upbringing as anything else. Perhaps the problems I experience with my legs was a big reason for my love of reading as I was not able to enjoy more physically challenging hobbies.

No longer do you fit-in, fixated on the parts of the body that is different from the person standing next to you.  Or all too conscious of what is happening inside of you, that which only you can apperceive.  Once you felt normal, but no longer is it the truth.  

"No longer do you fit-in, fixated on the parts of the body that is different. Or all too conscious of what is happening inside of you, that which only you can apperceive.  Once you felt normal, but no longer is it the truth." Share on X

Illness now claimed you as its reluctant victim, and as such, so too has weirdness; of not being normal.

Panicking Over Every New Twinge; Every Strange New Sensation

I cannot remember the time when every new twinge or unfamiliar sensation did invoke a fresh wave of panic. In my ‘normal’ days, the days before this illness became such a permanent and constant presence in my life, it was easy to brush off a twinge, or unfamiliar sensation as something benign and not a cause for concern.

Now, when met with such circumstances, more often than not, it is welcomed by panic and overwhelming anxiety.  A worry begins that this new twinge or sensation is a sign of another new symptom to add to the already long list. Or a signal from our fragile and broken body that something else is wrong, a new diagnosis for the medical profession to ascertain.  

"A worry begins that this new twinge or sensation is a sign of another new symptom to add to the already long list. Or a signal from our fragile and broken body that something else is wrong." Share on X

It consistently evokes the question of whether such misgivings are a warning of an imminent flare.  Or worse, the start of a deterioration in our conditions.

Accessing? When Amid Chronic Illness The World Can Become Inaccessible

In the land of normality, the world truly is your oyster. It is fully accessible, and the only decision is how to utilise such freedom.

When becoming chronically ill, and limited by the effects of severe and debilitating symptoms, doors begin to slam in your face. The world is slowly becoming inaccessible, and smaller in its choices available to you.

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When living with chronic illness and disability, the effects of such can often make the world feel inaccessible to you; your world and life becoming smaller.

The fear of triggering crippling pain makes it impossible to turn the lock and leave the comfort of home. Instead, resigning ourselves to another day of isolation, with no company but that of chronic pain.  And the company of several other loathsome symptoms.

"The fear of triggering crippling pain makes it impossible to turn the lock and leave the comfort of home. Instead, resigning ourselves to another day of isolation, with no company but that of chronic pain." Share on X

The internal battle between you and the door offering freedom can become a daily routine. A face-off with a door may seem ridiculous but when you’ve tumbled down a flight of stairs too many times to count, or not knowing when your legs are next going to give way, or experience dizziness so intense that the world feels unsafe, leaving the house can be terrifying.

"A face-off with a door may seem ridiculous but when you've tumbled down a flight of stairs too many times to count, or not knowing when your legs are next going to give way, leaving the house can be terrifying." Share on X

Public transport becoming inaccessible also, due to the unavailability of seats. Because of severe weakness and disabling pain, standing for an unknown period of time becomes untenable, and as such insurmountable.

Every day you are confronted with places or situations that are inaccessible to you due to the confines of illness and disability. No longer does it feel that you fit into the world around you.

"Every day you are confronted with places or situations that are inaccessible to you due to the confines of illness and disability. No longer does it feel that you fit into the world around you." Share on X

A person with a chronic illness or disability becoming a square peg trying to fit themselves inside a round hole.

Soothing Myself By Changing The Self-Talk

In a normal, ordinary world, I feel anything but, however. I feel different, peculiar, not normal. My ears are often ringing with the sounds of the names directed at me, freak, for example.

The neurological disorder and the symptoms that invariably accompany it sets me apart from everyone else. It’s a truth I have to accept; a part of my life that continually makes me feel different, and abnormal from others.

"FND and the symptoms that invariably accompany it sets me apart from everyone else. It's a truth I have to accept; a part of my life that continually makes me feel different, and abnormal from others." Share on X

But in an attempt to soothe myself from its effects, I often ask myself the question “What is normal?”

Because the truth is normal does not exist; it is subjective. For one person, something may be entirely normal but not so for a different individual.

What is normal is also contingent upon a diverse range of factors such as location or time. What is normal in one part of the world, for example, would be considered strange or abnormal in another. And something deemed to be normal in the Middle Ages, would not be so in today’s modern society.

So no my life consisting of pain, and numerous symptoms due to a neurological disorder may not be normal to others, but it is my normal. And maybe that’s OK because your normal may just sound just as strange to me.

"So no my life consisting of pain, and numerous symptoms due to a neurological disorder may not be normal to others, but it is my normal. And maybe that's OK because your normal may just sound just as strange to me." Share on X

The above post is part of the May Link-Up Party with A Chronic Voice. The aim of it is for bloggers and writers to share their stories and experiences of living with chronic illness through given prompts.

May Link-Up Party with A Chronic Voice

This post is genuinely personal and difficult to write, but as I think it will resonate with many others who are forced to live with illness every day, it is, therefore, an important one to write.

There are many times that I dislike myself and am ashamed of who I have become.  If I could be anyone else, I would gladly choose anyone else’s life to live rather than my own.

A lot of that is down to the neurological condition that I live with; everything that life with chronic illness has given me, I believe however that it has taken much more away.

The symptoms that I endure and the impact that it has on my life has stripped away friendships, my independence and ability to provide for myself through meaningful employment that was my aspiration after graduating university and before the deterioration of my condition.  The dreams that I had and the direction that I wanted my life to take was snatched from me and was instead forced to reevaluate everything and take a different path.

[Tweet “Chronic illness has given me so much. However, it has taken much more away.”]

I am sure that I am not the only person living with a chronic illness to feel or have felt this way.

To look at others, measuring ourselves against them and ending up feeling somewhat superfluous in comparison.  When I think of my family and seeing myself through their eyes, I often believe that I must be somewhat of a disappointment to them.

After all, I have not achieved anything substantial during my life thus far. Instead, my life consists of being stuck inside the same four walls or attending one hospital appointment after another.

These thoughts are not consistent and perhaps are worse during the darkest of days.

However, I came across the most beautifully compassionate and profound quote written by A.A Milne and famously said by his most famous creation, Winnie-the-Pooh.

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Perhaps chronic illness is the most significant part of ourselves that make us different but then without it then we wouldn’t be who we have become.

[Tweet “Without chronic illness then maybe we wouldn’t be who we have become. “]

Living with a neurological condition and its symptoms, for many years before being diagnosed, it has shaped who I have become as a person as a result.  If not for living with a neurological condition, I may have become an entirely different person, but then it would not necessarily mean they would be a better person. I like to think of myself as a compassionate and caring person; someone who is there for others and perhaps this part of what defines me as a person is as a result of the experiences of living with this neurological condition.

We often think of chronic illness as being the defining feature of the negative aspects of our personality and lives in general – the loss of independence, loss of self-confidence and so on but perhaps living with a chronic illness may also be the influence for the positive aspects which what defines us.

If it weren’t for chronic illness, I would never have been such an avid user of social media or the author of a blog for example and as a result, would never have found my close friends that I have made since sharing my experiences of living with a neurological condition.

Furthermore, I may not have such a close relationship with my parents if it had not been for the condition that has affected them as much as myself.

The difficulties faced when living with a chronic illness or neurological disorder are extremely difficult, and as a result of living with these for many years, we develop strength and resilience that was not there before the onset of symptoms and may not have developed if not for chronic illness.

The people closest to me can see beyond the neurological condition that I see as being such a big part of my life, and see my value despite the effects of chronic illness, and which I may not recognise in myself.

They recognise the things that make me different from everyone else and yet still love me because it’s those differences that make me and despite me being ashamed of that which makes me different from others.

A.A Milne should be celebrated for not only his profound words and insights of life but also for making those who may feel different from everyone else be proud of those differences and allow themselves to celebrate their individuality.

[Tweet “It’s those differences that make me, despite being ashamed of that which makes me different.”]

Once again it’s the most wonderful time of the year; and like the Christmases that have come before, we again have been inundated with various iconography associated with Christmas.  Images such as Father Christmas, snow and Christmas trees adorn popular decorations, and greeting cards meant for the holidays.

However, in my opinion, there is one particular image that is often associated with the Christmas season, which is a perfect representation of those living with chronic illnesses. What is it, you ask?

It’s the snowflake!

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It’s well-known that no two snowflakes are alike.  Each one is entirely individual and unique – much like us spoonies.  Not only are we individual, just like everyone else with differing interests and personalities, but also fits in with living with a chronic illness.  Just as we are unique and individual, our chronic conditions and the way they manifest itself are just as unique.  This can be especially true with neurological disorders like mine as well as conditions such as MS and myasthenia gravis (which are both known as a ‘snowflake disease’) because there are so many different symptoms and no two patients are likely to exhibit the same set of symptoms.

Snowflakes as well as being unique and individual, are also beautiful – just like the spoonies that I have had the pleasure of coming into contact with through my blog or my other social media sites.  It is said that snowflakes are fragile, but when one or more snowflakes stick together, they actually become stronger.

During my journey living with this neurological condition, I have learned many lessons and one such lesson that chronic illness has taught me that there is indeed strength in numbers.  On the days that my body has felt weak and fragile, and feeling that the hope that helps me through is diminishing, it is messages of support from fellow chronically ill people that really helps me through the dark days.   These give me the strength to fight my symptoms and continue to live despite the often debilitating symptoms.

Recently, the symptoms that I live with on a daily basis such as the pain and trembling in the legs, the dizziness, fatigue, and weakness have been particularly debilitating, and as a result, I have been experiencing mild symptoms of depression that I often find accompanies periods of ill-health such as these.  Part of these low moods, I have seen myself, comparing myself to others, particularly family and those friends who are close in age to myself, and feeling notably different to everyone else.  And not in a good way.

However, snowflakes, and what they stand for can teach us that it is okay to be different from everybody else.  It teaches us that being individual and unique is in actual fact a good thing and, it is these differences that sets us apart from anybody else, and what makes us special.

Therefore, perhaps when we know someone (particularly a fellow spoonie) who is struggling.  Or who are feeling upset because of something which is affecting them and setting them apart, then maybe we should send them a card or a little present depicting a snowflake to remind them just how beautiful, special and unique they are – and that being different is more than okay.

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Not only a beautiful piece of jewellery but a perfect gift for anyone who is struggling with being different…

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