Contrary to what some of my friends and family might believe, I didn’t wake up one morning and decide that I was going to label myself a “chronic illness blogger”. Let’s be honest, I spent a year hoping that my pain could be cured and wouldn’t be “chronic”. No one wants an incurable, life long illness – but I’ve got one.
I originally started writing it down as a means to buffer my friends and family from my constant complaining. I needed to tell someone about what was going on because I was in so much pain and it felt so unfair. I figured that if I wrote a blog, I’d only be ranting to people who chose to subject themselves to it. No one is being forced to read this.
Some people think that I dwell on my illness or that I have let it consume me. Let’s make one thing clear, I didn’t let it consume me. It marched in uninvited and took away everything that I took for granted. It took away the things that I was looking forward to and everything I used to enjoy. It is the biggest, darkest cloud that I have to take into consideration with every insignificant activity that I do. I can’t choose to ignore it and “get on with it” because IT DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT. If I ignore it and over-do things then I end up in more pain than my healthy friends could even comprehend. I’m not saying that to boast, it’s not a competition. I genuinely can’t think of words to explain what it feels like to wake up crippled and in agony because I thought I’d try and change the bedsheets the day before. The baseline level of pain that I deal with is exhausting on its own.
There are some friends and family who sit on the periphery of my life and read my blog, only to decide that I’m a Moaning Minnie – but they are wrong. If you’re reading this and you’ve come to that same conclusion, ask yourself this; when did you last call me on the phone or visit me? Unless you are my immediate family, my Gran or a few of my friends, you haven’t called in over a year… No one calls. This blog is primarily about living with a chronic illness. People don’t come here to hear about the fact that I had to wrap all of J’s Christmas presents because he’s a big kid and kept looking for them. They don’t want to hear about how bloody amazing our two fluffy bunnies are. They really don’t care that I ordered a new cardigan with BUNNIES ON THE POCKETS. But I am still me. I still get excited about silly things and laugh inappropriately. I still swear more than my father would like and I’d still do anything for anyone – mobility allowing.
Basically, what I’m saying is that…. If you read what I post online and judge me and how I’m managing with my condition, it says a lot more about your small minded, judgemental attitude than it does about me. If you think I’m moaning, could it not just be that I’m in a world of pain and miserable? And really, if you’re a friend or family, your reaction to me being depressed due to chronic illness should NOT be to criticise me. What’s worse? Being miserable or being an out and out arsehole?