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

“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.

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.

"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.

"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