Sunday, 24 August 2014


It's hard for me to convey how much having a chronic illness saturates one's life; or mine, anyway.  And I know other ill people lament the same, because I've commiserated with them about it.  Every single hour of every single day of every year after year after year, I am constantly aware of some level of discomfort and illness.  Always.  I never escape it completely.  How do I explain that?  I am always distracted to some degree by my body.  When a caring person asks me how I'm doing and I say, "ok" or "not bad" it's a
relative.  I'm never good or great, physically.  The constant mental vigilance required and active maintenance my body needs every day is tiring.  Sometimes I just want a break from it.  I want relief.  But I can't have one.

That realization itself is exhausting.  For many years there was a mostly subconscious feeling that I'd just have to endure feeling bad long enough to reach wellness - a lot like how many of us spend much of our lives looking forward to and waiting for that unrealizable time when things are perfect and we can finally relax and enjoy living - but eventually there is the awareness that this is it, forever.  I will always inhabit this body.  As children we are told that we can have anything if we try hard enough to achieve it, but in fact we can't.  It's startling to realize that truth.

I carry on, I know things could be worse, and a person adapts to a degree, but I have moments, like this one, in which I just want a break, just want relief, just want one day in which I don't have to think about it, feel unwell at all.

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