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I'm on Benefits, But Stigma Makes Me Feel Ashamed
In Chronic Illness

I’m on Benefits, But Stigma Makes Me Feel Ashamed

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How do you feel when you find a brown envelope in your mail? I never used to pay much notice; instead, I ripped into the envelope without any thought. Now, however, the sight of one sends me into a tailspin. Since I became disabled and unable to work, I’ve had the constant stress and worry of dealing with the DWP. I’m on benefits, but I’m made to feel ashamed for doing so. 

Whenever a brown envelope arrives at my door, I feel a pit in my stomach. The mere sight of it feels like a threat. I fear what lies in wait for me in the contents of that threatening brown envelope. Although I’m on disability now, I never feel safe that I’ll be able to keep them. And the threat of reassessment constantly looms over me. 

"Although I'm on disability now, I never feel safe that I'll be able to keep them. And the threat of reassessment constantly looms over me." Share on X

Last year, the threat of reassessment became a reality. Forms packaged inside a large brown envelope landed on my doorstep, triggering stress and anxiety. I’ve already proven to the powers that be that I’m disabled. So, why must I do it all over again to keep the benefits I need?

"I've already proven to the powers that be that I'm disabled. So, why must I do it all over again to keep the benefits I need?" Share on X

The Humiliation of Divulging Details of My Weak, Faulty Body

The constant need to assert my deficits to strangers trained to doubt me and who don’t know me or understand my disability feels unsurpassable.

"The constant need to assert my deficits to strangers trained to doubt me and who don't know me or understand my disability feels unsurpassable." Share on X

Although my body is constantly reminding me of the presence of the symptoms ravaging my body, I seldom think about it. So, the need to recount the private details of all the ways my body fails me is humiliating and dehumanising. As I write, I try not to cry or swear as I fight feelings of inadequacy. I feel less than as I confess to a faceless bureaucrat to everything my body no longer allows me to do. 

"As I write, I try not to cry or swear as I fight feelings of inadequacy. I feel less than as I confess to a faceless bureaucrat to everything my body no longer allows me to do." Share on X

I feel disheartened as I see in black and white all the ways my life has changed because of my sick, ailing body. Reading my words back to me, I can’t recognise myself as the person I once was. It was only when I first applied for PIP that I first understood and accepted that disability was now going to be a large part of my life.

The hardest part of knowing this process isn’t the end. In another three years, I will need to prove my disability all over again. The constant need to justify my existence is traumatising, exhausting and stressful. And it often feels that the system’s designed to make us feel this way. 

"The constant need to justify my existence is traumatising, exhausting and stressful. And it often feels that the system's designed to make us feel this way." Share on X

In the UK, PIP is a benefit that helps with the increased costs incurred when living with a disability. It might go by another name in a different country. What is universal, however, is the stigma of being on benefits and the struggle to apply and get them.

Filling out benefit forms is a stressful and demoralsing experience
Photo by Ryutaro Tsukata: https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-writing-with-pen-on-paper-6249385/

Why I’m Hesitant to Admit to The D Word

As a disabled person living in the UK, it’s heart-wrenching to hear the increasing vitriolic language toward people like me. Words like faker, burden, or drain on society scream at me from stories and tweets on my screen. 

"It's heart-wrenching to hear the increasing vitriolic language toward people like me. Words like faker, burden, or drain on society scream at me from stories and tweets on my screen." Share on X

It’s because of this I shy away from using the D word: disability, as in, I’m on disability when asked what it is I do. Shame immediately set in whenever it has, as any self-worth I had disappeared into the abyss.

"I shy away from using the D word: disability, as in, I'm on disability when asked what it is I do. Shame immediately set in whenever it has, as any self-worth I had disappeared into the abyss." Share on X

I worry they will judge me, even if they never say it out loud. I fear they’ll think less of me for not working when, for many people, their career is a fundamental part of their identity. And I worry that they’ll see me as the stereotypical disabled benefit claimant depicted by the media and our government. 

Like most other disabled people, I’ve had people make light of the fact that I don’t work. When I hear their words, I can’t feel like a second-class citizen. And, like, I don’t matter because I still rely on government handouts. 

Yes, it’s true I’ve attended university and achieved a degree in Psychology, but that doesn’t mean I can work. If it weren’t for the support from the disability services, my degree would never have come to be. Now, the challenges my disability poses in my everyday life have become so unsurmountable that the prospect of being able to work has become nearly impossible. 

Being Sick is Not a Lifestyle Choice

My disability and its symptoms are the only predictable aspect of my life. I can no longer manage a consistent routine as my body continually reminds me that it calls the shots. First thing in the mornings, my legs refuse to work, leaving me stuck in bed until they decide to function enough that I can leave it. Or the sudden, crushing fatigue that comes from nowhere where I can’t function, my bed becoming both a haven and a prison. Or even the everlasting unpredictability of the never-knowing when my legs will give way next. My legs can give way at any time, anywhere, meaning it’s not safe to go out alone. 

Benefits: Being sick is not a lifestyle choice the government claims it is

Yet, the media and the UK government like to describe people like me as shirkers while languishing on benefits and sticking two fingers up at hard-working taxpayers funding our ‘lifestyles.’ The stories in the media make it sound easy to claim benefits which bear no resemblance to the system I and others navigate. Instead, it’s a stressful, miserable and demoralising experience. But being sick and needing to rely on benefits isn’t my choice. I didn’t ask or want to waste my days stuck at home. I didn’t work hard for three years for a degree to spend every day hidden behind the same four walls. Instead, looking at the certificate I worked hard for, gathering dust is painful, taunting me about what could have been. 

"I didn't work hard for three years for a degree to spend every day hidden behind the same four walls. Instead, looking at the certificate I worked hard for, gathering dust is painful, taunting me about what could have been." Share on X

It’s Not All Endless Free Time and Fun

Yet, when I am brave enough to disclose my inability to work, people often exclaim how nice it must be to stay at home all day doing nothing. Whether in person or online, people presume my life is fun, an enjoyable luxury, as I stay home all day. It is as if they believe all my time involves lounging around watching Netflix all day or taking infinite naps. But not working does not mean endless free time and fun. I still have chores and all the admin being ill entails. 

In truth, I have ambivalent feelings about what I call home. On the one hand, it feels like a sanctuary, a safe place. As I walk through its doors, I feel sheltered, secure and comforted from the worst that chronic illness throws at me. On the other hand, it feels that the very symptoms that plague my every waking moment continually hold me hostage in a prison that I call home. 

"On the one hand, home feels like a sanctuary, a safe place. On the other, it feels that the symptoms that plague my every waking moment continually hold me hostage in a prison I call home." Share on X
Stigma of Benefits: Home is my source of comfort. But my sanctuary can also feel like a prison

Neither is being on disability a life of luxury. I still live at home with my parents, a fact that I find embarrassing and humiliating. But my health and the severity of my symptoms make being able to live alone and independently perilous. But, even if I did want to live alone, I couldn’t afford to on the amount I receive in disability benefits.

Although I don’t have a job, living with and managing a chronic illness and disability in itself feels like full-time employment. It takes a lot to manage my condition, and everything that comes with it is a constant juggling act. It’s a job where the hours are twenty-four hours a day for three hundred and sixty-five days a year. A job that unfortunately comes with no benefits, breaks or holidays. 

The System Makes Me Feel More Like a Criminal

Instead, I have to navigate a complex and hostile system. One that makes living with a disability even harder. The stress of the claims process is worsened by a system that treats me like a criminal. Like, I’ve had to attend a tribunal in an actual court with guards and judges to prove the existence of my disability and to justify my need for financial help. 

"The stress of the claims process is worsened by a system that treats me like a criminal. Like, I've had to attend a tribunal in an actual court with guards and judges to prove the existence of my disability." Share on X

For me, the system often feels not designed to ensure everyone is ‘worthy‘, nor is it about reducing fraud. Instead, it’s trying to scare us off. The system wants us to feel overwhelmed, to exhaust ourselves with anxiety and stress, and, in the end, to give up. 

Since finishing this blog post, I’ve heard about my reassessment for PIP. Thankfully, my award entitlement hasn’t changed. I will still receive the enhanced rate for mobility and the standard rate for daily living. The decision is a welcomed relief, especially since I don’t have to attend a face-to-face assessment. But it has also come with guilt, knowing that others haven’t been as fortunate. I feel guilty that other disabled people face a stringent appeals process, whereas I’ve had it easy.

I'm on Benefits, But Stigma Makes Me Feel Ashamed
I'm on Benefits, But Stigma Makes Me Feel Ashamed

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A smiling woman taking at dusk in a field of sunflowers. Text at the bottom reads Why I'm Not Faking Being; I'm Faking Being Well
In Chronic Illness

Why I’m Not Faking Being Sick; I’m Faking Being Well

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“I’m Not Faking Being Sick; I’m Faking Being Well.”

Despite being sick, I’m never fortunate enough to receive flowers, gifts or cards. I don’t get anything; instead, I draw eye rolls as people become exasperated by my ill health. Rather than sympathy, people are accusing me of faking being sick for attention. Or using it as an excuse not to work and instead laze around the house all day, killing time. I never receive love or sympathy. Instead, I get disbelieving shakes of the head or glares when getting out of the car in a disabled bay. But I get no compassion. Instead, I’m the beneficiary of unsolicited advice; I should get out more for fresh air or to be more positive. But never hugs or presents.

Smiling, Looking Happy and Carefree…To Others, I Must Be Faking

It’s the reality when people cannot see your pain or the other symptoms accompanying chronic illness. They assume it doesn’t exist or that you’re exaggerating it to be much worse than it is. When I’m out, I’m smiling, make-up done, wearing clothes that make me look and feel good, alongside my colourful crutch. To them, I must be faking; someone genuinely sick wouldn’t be smiling, looking happy and carefree. A woman who is ill and disabled wouldn’t wear make-up or care about looking fashionable. To them, I must be faking, desperately seeking attention, wanting to stand out with my bright, fun and colourful crutch.

"It's the reality when people cannot see your pain or the other symptoms accompanying chronic illness. They assume it doesn't exist or that you're exaggerating it to be much worse than it is." Share on X

Yes, I like that it is aesthetically pleasing; I love that it looks fun and fashionable. But it’s my choice of crutch, not because I want attention. But because it’s more comfortable than anything I’ve used before. I felt miserable using the uncomfortable, grey, bulky crutch handed to me at the hospital. It caused pain and made me look and feel disabled. It feels that this illness stole my mobility and took my youth, femininity, love of colour and fashion.

But this crutch has not only helped with my mobility and reduced my pain but has also become an extension of my personality. They have become stylish accessories that I can coordinate with my outfits and a source of joy. They’ve gifted me new confidence in using them. More importantly, it has returned to me a part of myself that I thought I had lost.

Illustration of a woman in an orange top holding a mobile phone. On the left of the image reads the 'I'm not faking being sick; I'm faking being well"

But I’m Not Faking Being Sick; I’m Faking Being Well

People think I’m faking. And I am. But I’m not faking being sick; I’m faking being well. Nobody witnesses it, but I see evidence of my sickness daily. The remnants of illness echo everywhere around the house. It’s found in the piles of clothes left unwashed and unironed, the chores left unfinished, my mobility aids scattered around, and the empty pill packets discarded on my bedside table. My immediate surroundings are evidence of my sickness, as is my body. The dark, purply bruises under my eyes, my ashen complexion, and the cuts and bruises that decorate my body.

"Nobody witnesses it, but I see evidence of my sickness daily. The remnants of illness echo everywhere around the house: the chores left unfinished, my mobility aids scattered about, and the empty pill packets lying around." Share on X

But still, I’m continuously accused of faking or exaggerating my symptoms. But the truth is, I’m more likely to downplay the severity of my symptoms than to embellish them. The symptoms I live with may be invisible, but they are all too visible to me. Nobody can see, but I feel the symptoms constantly thrum through my body, causing persistent pain and discomfort. Those who judge, accusing me of faking, never know as I spend most of each day lying anywhere I can find.

"Nobody can see, but I feel the symptoms constantly thrum through my body, causing persistent pain and discomfort." Share on X

Much of that time, I’m lying with my eyes closed as I grapple with the pain and the other symptoms that are hell-bent on making life unbearable. But somehow, people think that I’m stuck at home by choice. There’s an idea that all I do all day is lie around in my pyjamas watching TV. A duvet day, every day, by choice, because to them, I’m lazy.

Like Ariel, I Wish I Could Be Part of Your (Healthy) World

But I’m not stuck at home all day by choice. It’s because that is the only option. Being at home every day is incredibly dull and depressing; my single experience is with my chronic illness. The world moves on, but still, I remain trapped, my body tethered to the confines of my home, wishing like Ariel that I could be part of the world outside of my prison.

On the right side lies an illustration of a woman with dark hair wearing a green top and blue trousers with hearts on staring out of a window with a cat sitting next to her. The text on the left hand side reads "The world moves on, but still, I remain trapped, my body tethered to the confines of my home, wishing like Ariel that I could be part of the world outside my prison."
"The world moves on, but still, I remain trapped, my body tethered to the confines of my home, wishing like Ariel that I could be part of the world outside my prison." Share on X

Every day, my head is full of wants and dreams, everything I yearn for and want to achieve. But all my desires and dreams are impossible to make reality. Because again and again, my body rebels against me, stopping me from living. I don’t choose to stay home every day; my body demands it. If I don’t conform to its demands, my body throws a tantrum to rival that of the naughtiest toddler. Living with chronic illness, FOMO isn’t the fear of missing out but rather the feeling of missing out. Grief constantly reappears as, time and time again, my body rebels, forcing me to miss out on joyous occasions I desperately wanted to attend.

"I don't choose to stay home every day; my body demands it. If I don't conform to its demands, my body throws a tantrum to rival that of the naughtiest toddler." Share on X

Why would I fake an illness only to miss out on so much?

"Why would I fake an illness only to miss out on so much?" Share on X

Accusations of Faking My Illness Is Not Only Limited To IRL

But it is not only in my real life that I have encountered allegations of faking my chronic illness. Horrible, vicious messages accusing me of faking being sick for attention or likes sneak into my DMs. Or even appear as anonymous comments on my blog by nameless, faceless trolls.

Writing about my experiences and sharing details of my life with chronic illness, some accuse me of talking too much about it. But some trolls take umbrage of my sporadic personal tweets that delve into life with chronic illness. Or they take issue that I don’t disclose everything about my life with chronic illness. As if, by not revealing everything about life with my health condition, then I can’t be living with it. Their venom, directed at me and my writing, calls into question the lack of photographs of myself looking ill. They question the lack of photos of the injuries I have obtained because of my symptoms. I feel like I’m on trial; the words I carefully compose and share on social media are evidence of my guilt or innocence of faking or exaggerating my life with chronic illness.

"I feel like I'm on trial; the words I carefully compose and share on social media are used as evidence as to my guilt or innocence of faking or exaggerating my life with chronic illness.: Share on X

But if I shared my reality of how bad I feel, every post would be a self-absorbed tale of woe. Who wants to constantly read details of how unwell I am or how miserable I feel? I know that’s not something I want to write about and share. It is difficult enough to endure the worst of times at the hands of chronic illness. But having to relive it all over again on social media only exacerbates the trauma. So, I don’t share; instead, I become quiet, my socials inactive as my time becomes preoccupied with surviving the flare.

"It is difficult enough to endure the worst of times at the hands of chronic illness. But having to relive it all over again on social media only exacerbates the trauma." Share on X

The Last Thing I Have the Energy For When I’m Unwell Is To Constantly Tweet About It!

I have little energy to do anything besides lying, staying in bed, and feeling terrible. The exhaustion penetrating my body makes me too tired to watch television, talk to anyone, or even move. I certainly do not possess the energy to lift my phone from its resting place to document how bad I feel for posterity on social media. Or, after a fall, my priority is getting myself to a safe space, tending to my injuries, ensuring they aren’t severe, and not taking a photograph of them to share online to legitimise my suffering.

"During a flare, I don't possess the energy to grab my phone from its resting place to document how bad things are or how bad I feel for posterity on social media." Share on X

I hesitate as my cursor hovers over the send button, unsure whether to catapult my innermost thoughts into cyberspace. I ask myself if I can or should reveal the private, intimate details of my thoughts, body, and life with chronic illness. But I do, not for attention or likes on social media, but because I remember the crippling loneliness I felt for years, living with mysterious and puzzling symptoms I had no answer for. If sharing my story and giving voice to this experience allows even one person not to feel that profound loneliness, it would give purpose to everything I have and continue to go through.

I have received many messages from people who have read my words or followed me on social media, saying they feel less alone because of my relatable descriptions of living with chronic illness. Every like I receive is not because someone likes my writing but because they understand and can sadly relate to my terrifying predicaments arising from my diagnosis. So, rather than wanting likes on social media, I’d prefer to have none.

Living With Chronic Illness Makes Me Feel Insecure and Embarrassed; Attention Is The Last Thing I Want

My social media feed is often a highlight reel of my life filled with smiles, laughter and a reflection of my likes and personality. This a testament to the moments I’m feeling joy and positivity and well enough to post. I’m happy to share such times because they reflect the time of my life when I felt normal and not the sick girl I often am.

"My social media is often a highlight reel of my life. It's a testament to the moments I'm feeling joy, positivity and well enough to post reflecting the times when I feel normal and now the sick girl I often am." Share on X

It hurts more than I can say that people think I’m faking or exaggerating my illness for attention or likes. Especially so when the said illness is always very present, evident in my life, ready to attack and ruin the here and now at its prerogative. It is apparent to me and those closest to me that I’m not faking being sick but being well. The symptoms affecting my mobility and balance are now all too visible to everyone that something is wrong with me, making me feel insecure and self-conscious. Because of this, I shy away from drawing attention to myself, preferring to stay in the background. Attention is the last thing I want, despite the accusations often directed at me.

Teal, yellow and pink stripes with white text reading Why Would I Fake An Illness Only To Miss Out On So Much?
"It hurts more than I can say that people think I'm faking or exaggerating my illness for attention or likes. Especially when the illness is always very present, evident in my life." Share on X

Because when you become chronically ill, the only attention you do come by is unwarranted and intrusive. I can physically feel stares boring into my back while my legs crumple beneath me, my crutch feebly maintaining my balance and me upright. Along with the stares, I hear not-very-whispered whispers as people suddenly look down after my eyes unexpectedly catch them staring at me. Or, strangers approach me, asking me intrusive questions about why I’m using a crutch and what is wrong with me, as if my health were a subject of debate like the weather.

"I never want attention because when you become chronically ill, the only attention you do come by is unwarranted and intrusive." Share on X

I’m Not Faking Being Sick; I Spend All My Time Faking Being Well

However, I’m often met with incredulous looks when I open up about my health condition. As if they think I’m faking it because I look fine, because of my faked healthy glow. It’s a cruel irony that the better I’ve managed my illness and the more adept I’ve become at hiding the signs, the harder it is for others to recognise it.

Because despite what you may believe, I’m not faking being sick. I’m spending all my time faking being well.

"I'm not faking being sick; I'm faking being well." Share on X

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I'm Fine A Lie That Chronic Illness Makes Me Tell
In Chronic Illness

I’m Fine: A Lie Illness Makes Me Tell

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‘I’m fine.’ Two small, simple words I speak no matter what when asked how I am. But it’s also an extremely misleading answer, if not an outright lie. Because in reality, I am never fine. I never feel fine; my chronic illness’s symptoms ensure that. Therefore, I’m fine is a lie that chronic illness makes me tell daily.

"But it's also an extremely misleading answer, if not an outright lie. Because I am never fine, I never feel fine; my chronic illness's symptoms ensure that. Therefore, I'm fine is a lie that chronic illness makes me tell." Share on X

I frequently encounter some variation of ‘How are you?’. It is a question I hear every day from all different types of people; friends, family, acquaintances, and even the occasional stranger. For most people, it is an easy question to answer. But for me, it makes me panic as I struggle to find the words to respond. I don’t want to feel like a misfit or a medical curiosity. I don’t want my illness to supplant who I am as a person. So it’s easier to reply with a frank, non-descript “I’m fine.”

How are You? I'm Fine
"But for me, it makes me panic as I struggle to find the words to respond. I don't want to feel like a misfit or a medical curiosity. I don't want my illness to supplant who I am as a person. So it's easier to say, "I'm fine." Share on X

But that one straightforward question triggers so much internal conflict. I don’t want to lie about how I am. But if I’m having one of my rare better days, I don’t want that one good day to give the mistaken impression that I’m improving or “cured.” Not because I want attention or sympathy, but because I’m only too aware of how many people living with invisible, chronic illnesses struggle with being taken seriously or believed. I don’t want my response to a straightforward question to reinforce any unfavourable generalisations.

On the other hand, when asked how I am on one of my many worst days, I don’t want pity. Nor do I want to be seen as a bore, as someone who only talks about their illness.

That’s why I, more often than not, may respond with a simple ‘I’m fine.’

It Takes on A Different Meaning When Living With Chronic Illness

Many symptoms that I live with: the pain, weakness, and dizziness are constant, affecting every second of my life. Other symptoms – the falls, the visual disturbances, and vertigo that sends my entire world in a spin are frequent visitors that appear much more regularly than I would like. Because of this, I’m never fine; I never feel fine and haven’t for a long time. I’m surprised that the word is still in my vocabulary.

What ‘fine’ means is that I’m never symptom-free; every day, I struggle with the knowledge that it might be the case for the rest of my life. It means I constantly live in survival mode, existing, not living, and never being able to leave it. It means that I’m fighting to maintain a positive, upbeat demeanour as much as possible, but there are moments every day when it feels too damn hard. It’s a general term for I feel like death, but I have still exerted myself to get up and dressed to go somewhere that is not within the same four walls I usually inhabit.

Definition of I'm Fine
"What 'fine' means is that I'm never symptom-free; every day, I struggle with the knowledge that it might be the case for the rest of my life. It means I constantly live in survival mode, existing, not living, and never being able… Share on X

An I’m fine, and a smile masks the exhaustion, hopelessness and heartbreak. All this constantly pursues me, leaving me unable to escape the clutches of chronic illness. It may mean that although I wear a smile, I’m trying to make it through the day without crying. It also means I’m in tremendous pain, but I’ve become accustomed to hiding it.

I reply, ‘I’m fine,’ despite my legs shaking beneath me. The constant weakness makes them contort as I fear they will crumple any second, leaving me self-conscious once again as I lie on the ground below. Still, I say, ‘I’m fine,’ despite the ongoing grief I battle, being constantly sick and having a body that keeps redefining itself.

"Still, I say, 'I'm fine,' despite the ongoing grief I battle, being constantly sick and having a body that keeps redefining itself." Share on X

Fine Is Not Always Fine

I’m fine has become code for ‘I’m not fine.’

Sometimes, it’s easier to pretend I am OK than to discuss chronic illness and its effect on me and my life. Despite much research and learning about the disorder that affects me considerably, the brain continues to be an enigma.

Trying to get others to understand my invisible chronic illness and how it impacts my life is mission impossible. But so much of the disorder I live with is shrouded in mystery, the unknowns heavily outweighing the knowns. I have no idea why the symptoms affect me as they do or why they seem to be set off by particular triggers. If I cannot understand it, how could I ever explain it to someone else to make them grasp what I go through? So, it seems easier to pretend I’m fine and put it off completely.

"If I cannot understand it, how could I ever explain it to someone else to make them grasp what I go through? So, it seems easier to pretend I'm fine and put it off completely." Share on X

It isn’t easy to find the words to convey just how severe and debilitating the symptoms are. Or the struggle I endure every day to withstand even another second of life with pain and illness.

I'm Fine A Lie that Chronic Illness Makes Me Tell

I’m Fine: A Lie Chronic Illness Makes Me Tell

But chronic illness is ever-present in my life, snatching away my vitality, health and mobility. It steals time, events and moments. It’s easy to let something ever-present hijack every thought and conversation. But, stating that I’m OK even when I’m anything but allows me to focus on things that make me forget my life with chronic illness, even for a short time. Because sometimes I want a break from having to talk about it. I would rather talk about something, anything else.

"It's easy to let something ever-present hijack every thought and conversation. But, stating that I'm OK even when I'm anything but allows me to focus on things that make me forget my life with chronic illness, even for a short… Share on X

I’m bored of chronic illness, so I’m sure others are sick of hearing about it too. Frankly, complaining about it never makes me feel better; if anything, it makes me feel worse. But most of all, I use it because I constantly feel weak, forced to confess that I’m still sick and not coping well yet again. My solution, therefore, is to keep it to myself. I don’t want others to see me as someone who is constantly unhappy or that person who complains all the time.

"But most of all, I use it because I constantly feel weak, forced to confess that I'm still sick and not coping well yet again. My solution, therefore, is to keep it to myself." Share on X
Fine Is Not Fine

I like to think of myself as someone honest and authentic. But often, when I say ‘I’m fine,’ it is a lie that chronic illness makes me tell. Because, usually, fine does not always mean fine.

"But often, when I say 'I'm fine,' it is a lie that chronic illness makes me tell. Because, usually, fine does not always mean fine." Share on X
I'm Fine A Lie Chronic Illness Makes Me Tell
I'm Fine A Lie That Chronic Illness Makes Me Tell

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Deterioration: A Threat That This Isn't Over
In Chronic Illness

Deterioration: A Threat That This Isn’t Over

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As I stare out of my window, I witness the seasons changing. I saw as the leaves fell from the trees outside. The ground suddenly became a beautiful canvas of colours with orange, red, yellow, and green hues. The days gave way to cooling temperatures and darkening afternoons that stretch long into the night. And I have watched as heavy rain has pelted against my window panes. We can reconcile such changes by switching on cosy lights, wrapping up in chunky knits, or sipping a hot drink. But, sometimes, we cannot so easily accommodate change. Instead, change can be confronting and heart-wrenching for those living with chronic illness, specifically when deterioration strikes. The sudden appearance of symptoms or worsening ones can feel like a chilling threat that this isn’t over.

When it starts getting dark early, I like to accommodate such a change by using cosy lights. But we cannot so easily adapt to changes in symptoms due to a chronic illness in our lives.
"Change can be heart-wrenching for those living with chronic illness, specifically when deterioration strikes. The sudden appearance of symptoms or worsening ones can feel like a chilling threat that this isn't over." Share on X

Deterioration: A Threat That This Isn’t Over

The change and abrupt worsening of symptoms can develop suddenly, without warning. I know that it catches me completely off guard when it happens to me. It reopens the wound that living with a chronic illness has created, like a scab breaking open again and again. And the longer the worsening of symptoms lasts, the more it bleeds. Anxiety once again seeps into every facet of my life. During this recent deterioration, I had hoped that it was a blip. A flare that would dissipate as quickly as it appeared. However, the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. I then had to consider the awful possibility that this deterioration was permanent. An old mantra tells us, ‘This too shall pass,’ but some storms sadly last forever when living with chronic illness.

"An old mantra tells us, 'This too shall pass,' but some storms sadly last forever when living with chronic illness." Share on X

Dizziness, pain, trembling and weakness in the legs, and vertigo are the main symptoms accompanying my life with FND. The majority of which are constant, debilitating, and affects every facet of my life. But although such symptoms have a profoundly negative impact on my quality of life, I have gotten used to them. I have found ways of coping with them and consolidating them as part of my life.

Deterioration: Losing My Grip On My Identity

But since all the symptoms have worsened, and some significantly so I have begun to feel adrift. I find it challenging to be buoyant by things that once helped me stay afloat. As symptoms become wild and uncontrollable, it is easy to feel like you’re losing control. The longer it continues, the more you become limited by persistent, unyielding symptoms. The thread of who you were and what you could do slowly becomes unpicked. It is easy to feel like you’re losing grip on your identity. And, how you think about yourself and your body changes and morphs into something darker and antagonistic.

My body has not fallen victim to any horrible accidents nor experienced significant injuries that could explain my sudden deterioration. There are no definite reasons for me to blame for my sudden less-abled body, making it all the more difficult to accept.

Compared to how the symptoms are now, they were previously a moderate annoyance. Now they behave like a toddler having one hell of a temper tantrum. Before now, I could not imagine how the pain I was experiencing could get any worse; it already felt raging and out of control. I soon learnt, however, that, unfortunately, the pain can indeed become worse.

Defeated by the Want To Get Better or Stronger

With an intensity I have never experienced before, the pain demands attention. A hot, burning pain radiates down my entire spine. And a severe tingling sensation shoots down both legs while sweat drips from my hair, trickling down my neck. The trembling in my legs is so intense that it feels like an earthquake is happening beneath my feet. And the falls that already punctuate much of my life have also increased with great intensity. Although they have not generated significant injuries, falls have worsened the pain I’m already in, much to my frustration. My legs constantly feel so weak, so much more fragile than before. So, standing and walking feels like even more of a precarious endeavour.

I so desperately want to get better, to see signs of improvement. But such a wish is one even the most potent genies cannot grant. Instead, getting better has become a fight that I cannot win. But I’ve tried, giving it my all. To feel better and stronger, I pushed through pain and fatigue. I have battled excruciating pain during gruelling physiotherapy sessions. I have made the appointments, seen countless doctors and specialists and taken the pills. But despite my great effort and my dogged determination, I remain defeated.

"I so desperately want to get better, to see signs of improvement. But such a wish is one even the most potent genies cannot grant. Instead, getting better has become a fight that I cannot win." Share on X

As The Intensity of Symptoms Expands, My World Shrinks

This sudden, unexpected deterioration has been overwhelming, demoralising and life-changing. As the presence and intensity of such symptoms expand, my world shrinks, my self-confidence obliterated beyond repair. Its broken pieces lay at my feet, ready to be rebuilt. It is easy to lose self-confidence in the villainous evil of chronic illness. It is easy to distrust resent a body that constantly fails you. And it becomes effortless to hate a body that continually embarrasses you as your legs regularly gives way.

"It is easy to lose self-confidence in the villainous evil of chronic illness. It is easy to distrust resent a body that constantly fails you. And it becomes effortless to hate a body that continually embarrasses you." Share on X

I have found that my self-confidence diminishes every time my legs give way. My positive self-image vanished as I was left flat on my face on the ground below. The more such incidents happen, the more the anxiety increases. Instead, it becomes easier to avoid situations where such events occur. And as the intensity of symptoms is still severe, it can be easier not to try; to not try and defy such severe, relentless symptoms in case of making them worse or our already fragile confidence.

Most days, I feel lost, obscured by pain and other debilitating symptoms affecting my present. I can’t help fearing the future, worried that worse will come. Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

My New Comfort Zone; Safe but Limiting

For me, most of my time outside of the house now involves sitting in cosy coffee shops. The trembling and weakness have become so intense and severe that they consistently feel they will give way imminently. And more often than not, they do. So now, I have lost confidence with anything involving walking or standing. Now, things like shopping and exploring have become precarious and unsafe, both of which I used to enjoy.

Some days I feel lost, obscured by pain and debilitating symptoms that dominate my present, and I fear my future. But it is not only self-confidence I have lost; it feels that this sudden deterioration has left a blemish on my self-identity.

"Some days, I feel lost, obscured by pain and debilitating symptoms that dominate my present, and I fear my future. But it is not only self-confidence I have lost; this sudden deterioration has left a blemish on my self-identity." Share on X

Worsening Symptoms Has Left a Blemish on My Self-Identity

Who I was and the life I led has buckled underneath the heavy burden of illness. The girl who once wished for adventure in the great wide somewhere exists no more. Now such endeavours feel insurmountable as I continue to be hampered by severe, unyielding symptoms. Staying close to home has become challenging and testing, so the thought of going further afield feels impossible.

"Who I was, and the life I led has buckled underneath the heavy burden of illness. The girl who once wish for adventure in the great wide somewhere no longer exists." Share on X

I recently decided to cancel a cruise with my family, which was a difficult and heart-breaking decision to reach. But, I was struggling to cope even at home with such demanding symptoms. I knew that I definitely couldn’t if away from the comfort and familiarity of home. The very idea of a holiday I found painful. It was and is an agonising reminder of the permanence of chronic illness. Although it allows the opportunity to escape the monotony of everyday life, I cannot leave behind chronic illness’s unrelenting symptoms. Because chronic illness never takes a holiday. Chronic pain never takes a holiday. And disability never takes a holiday. Instead, I would have no choice but to pack them all and take them with me.

"Although a holiday allows the opportunity to escape the monotony of everyday life, I cannot leave behind chronic illness's unrelenting symptoms. Because chronic illness never takes a holiday." Share on X

Although I know my decision not to go was the right one, my head still makes me doubt myself. The dark thoughts that accompany the depression proclaim that I’m weak. And my head leaving me to believe that I am letting my illness win by not going.

Grief and Despair; Unwelcome Visitors Once Again

It feels that this sudden deterioration has thrust me into the stormy waters without a life jacket. Its powerful waves pull me under into the dark, murky depths, unable to break free. Drowning in feelings of sickness, symptoms continuing their strangling hold on my life. In my despair, I want nothing more than to be better. To finally feel normal, unfettered from the constraints and restrictions from illness. But to my horror, I instead find myself becoming worse. It seems that I am becoming weaker and more disabled by illness and its symptoms than before.

"In my despair, I want nothing more than to be better. To finally feel normal, unfettered from the constraints and restrictions from illness. But to my horror, I instead find myself becoming worse." Share on X

Grief and despair have become part of my journey living with a chronic illness once again. Floods of tears flow from my eyes, especially as I continually lose the battle with my body. The nights are long, battling with persistent, unmanageable symptoms. Dark, depressive thoughts quickly surface, wanting to give up, not knowing how much more I can endure. Any hope that I once held onto dramatically dwindles as I continue to be defeated by pain and illness.

"Grief and despair have become part of my journey living with a chronic illness once again. Floods of tears flow from my eyes, and the nights are long, battling with persistent, unmanageable symptoms." Share on X

The only hope I can hold onto is that although the deterioration I am experiencing isn’t temporary, the painful, turbulent emotions accompanying it are. I have adapted to severe, debilitating symptoms before, learning to consolidate them as a part of my life. If I have done it before, I hope I have the strength to do it again.

"The only hope I can hold onto is that although the deterioration I am experiencing isn't temporary, the painful, turbulent emotions accompanying it are." Share on X
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Reliving Heartbreak: Life with a chronic illness
In Chronic Illness

Reliving Heartbreak: Life With A Chronic Illness

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“The true heartbreak of living with chronic illness is being forced to relive the worst moments of it over and over again”

I am an avid reader. I love nothing more than to sit and devour the latest bestsellers. Unfortunately, at times disabling symptoms that accompany chronic illness prevents me from doing so. Blurred vision, dizziness and intense, crippling pain all make reading near impossible. But still, I am grateful for the times I able to find pleasure in the pages of a good book. Recently, I have been able to find joy in reading once again. At the moment, I am seemingly choosing stories of love, romance, and heartbreak. Much of the books I have selected recently seem to revolve around heartbreak, much to my bewilderment.

Perhaps I gravitate towards such books because I resonated with their themes. These books resonated with me as I am no stranger to heartache. My heartbreak may not be the same as those I read about in the books stacked on my bedside table, but I do often experience it. My heartbreak comes not from a break-up or losing a job, or a fallout with a friend. No, instead, my heartbreak stems from living with chronic illness.

"My heartbreak may not be the same as those I read about in the books stacked on my bedside table, but I do often experience it. My heartbreak stems not from a break-up but from living with chronic illness." Share on X

Heartbreak is often temporary. A brief, intense sadness in which we allow ourselves to wallow in self-pity, a tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and the cheesiest romantic comedies. But when living with chronic illness, we are forced to relieve these moments of heartbreak over and over again.

Living with chronic illness is heartbreaking

Life with a chronic illness is reliving heartbreak over and over again.

"Life with a chronic illness is reliving heartbreak over and over again." Share on X

The Heartbreak of Regularly Losing Your Freedom

It is heartbreaking knowing that this freedom from the worst symptoms accompanying chronic illness is only brief. As much as I enjoy a reprieve from the worst of my symptoms and enjoy the pleasure of reading and able to do what I want when I want, I know it won’t last. Soon, and sooner than I would choose, my entire existence will become besieged by crippling and disabling symptoms. And once again, I will find that I cannot participate in activities that bring me pleasure and joy, such as reading.

"Soon, and sooner than I would choose, my entire existence will become besieged by crippling and disabling symptoms. And once again, I will find that I cannot participate in activities that bring me pleasure such as reading." Share on X

But freedom is something that I can never truly have. This illness has locked me inside a sort of prison, now trapped within a body that no longer feels like my own. Imprisoned by a deep sense of isolation, everyone around me cannot understand the pain that dominates my being.

The isolation worsened by physical isolation as this illness has continued to prise people from my life. Or it has been a decision made by so-called friends as they failed or didn’t want to understand my illness and the devastating effect it has on my life. Even worse has been the suspicion that people in my life to the validity of my condition. Especially people who know me well and should know that I would never lie or contemplate faking being unwell. When I should be out having fun and living my life to the fullest, it is heartbreaking to find myself with no social life and very few friends.

The Scariest and Longest Ride That Is Chronic Illness

Chronic illness is like the scariest rollercoaster ride; it’s one that I desperately want to get off but cannot. Just like experiencing a flare, you desperately want for it to end. Deep down, you know that it will eventually end, maybe not today, tomorrow, or even next week, but it will end. And when it does stop, you know the ride will soon start all over again.

It is especially heart-rendering, never knowing what caused this current flare or why it’s happening; it just is. And there is nothing that I or anyone else I or anyone I can do to stop it. Instead, I am a victim to it, forced to withstand it.

"It is especially heart-rendering, never knowing what caused this current flare or why it's happening; it just is. I am a victim to it, forced to withstand it." Share on X

Every morning I wake, hoping things will be different. Each morning I hope that symptoms have miraculously eased during the time I spent asleep. And hoping that today the limitations will alleviate, allowing me some freedom from the constraints of FND. But every morning, I feel sad, heartbreakingly disappointed, and greatly disappointed that nothing has changed. Still, symptoms wreak havoc upon my body and limiting what I can do with my time.

As time rages on, so has the symptoms that affect me significantly every day. The hope that such symptoms will ease or retreat gradually dissipates. Decline not improvement seems to embody my experience of living with a chronic condition. The worsening of symptoms continually chips away at what I can do, eroding my self-confidence and identity. It’s heartbreaking to discover the remnants of what we used to be able to do, our identity, and our hopes and dreams in the rubble of our life before illness demolished it.

"It's heartbreaking to discover the remnants of what we used to be able to do, our identity, and our hopes and dreams in the rubble of our life before illness appeared and demolished it." Share on X

The Heartbreak of Losing Your Body and Self to Pain and Illness

Now, my body or my life no longer seems to be my own. Instead, my body now belongs to the limitations forced upon me by symptoms that I cannot control and certainly cannot extinguish. My life now belongs to the opportunities I cannot accept because my body refuses to cooperate. My body forever tethered to the medications that allow me to function. Pills that I don’t want but need to survive the ferocity of the symptoms that are always present.

My body no longer feels like my own
"Now, my body or my life no longer seems to be my own. Instead, my body now belongs to the limitations forced upon me by symptoms that I cannot control and certainly cannot extinguish." Share on X

It is heartbreaking when I realise that such good days, days where the symptoms are mild and manageable or even non-existent, are scarce. It breaks my heart that most of my days are ones filled with excruciating pain, never-ending fatigue, and weakness that refuses to cease.

Not being in pain seems so far removed from my reality that it feels like it only exists in fairy tales. Trying to remember the feeling of not being in pain or besieged by other debilitating symptoms is like trying to recall the feel of the warm sun on your skin during the cold, dark months of winter. It’s trying to remember the excitement of being on holiday when back home amid the mundane, everyday life.

Heartbreak and chronic illness
It is heartbreaking that every moment of my life is greatly affected by severe, debilitating symptoms. It is heart-rendering that I can no longer remember how it feels not to be in constant, excruciating pain, or even what it is to be healthy. Photo by Ivan Samkov from Pexels
"Not being in pain seems so far removed from my reality that it feels like it only exists in fairy tales. It is heartbreaking realising that I am no longer able to remember what it is not to be in pain." Share on X

It is heart-rendering to realise that I can longer remember what it is to be healthy.

It is heartening being forced to relive the worst moments of living with a chronic illness

"And I do sometimes have great moments, beautiful days even. But still, I am in pain. And despite trying my best with doctors' appointments, different therapies and treatments, it still isn't enough." Share on X

Every day, however, I try my best. I try my best to do what I can and not become consumed by thoughts of what I cannot. Every day, I try to paint a smile on my face and find joy in the small pleasures that bring me comfort. And I do sometimes have great moments, beautiful days even. But still, I am in pain. And despite trying my best with doctors’ appointments, different therapies and treatments, it still isn’t enough. Often they don’t work or fail to relieve the symptoms as much as we wish they could. It is heartbreaking that I still am forced to relive some of the worst moments of living with a chronic illness despite it all.

"It is heartbreaking that I still am forced to relive some of the worst moments of living with a chronic illness despite all my best efforts to remain positive and persevere with treatments." Share on X

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