A Day of Faking
CW: Chronic pain, fatigue, and brief suicidal ideation.
Living with chronic illness means being an actor, every single day.
Pain prevented me from sleeping. I stumble out of bed for work.
I can't properly brush my teeth. I do my best, hoping it's enough. I can't effectively shower. I do my best, hoping it's enough. I can't lift my arms to apply deodorant. I do my best, hoping it's enough.
I struggle getting dressed. So I decide on baggy jeans and slide on shoes. I can't get my bra on. It's too warm out for a hoodie. I brave the humiliation and ask my kid for help. I can't brush my hair. So, I put on a hat. Makeup is out of the question.
The drive to work is painful. Every bump and pothole sends jolts through my joints. It is painful to steer and press the pedals. So, I am slightly slower and take two seconds longer to make turns and at lights. This upsets other drivers.
My brain is not working correctly. So, I have to ask my coworkers questions that I should already know. For this, they are annoyed. A customer calls and asks for help. I move the wrong way and take an unexpected deep audible breath to hide a scream. The customer thinks I am rude and asks for my supervisor. I am coached on maintaining a proper customer service voice.
Once I am home, I ask my kid for help in changing my clothing. I am now too tired for the humiliation to deter me.
I can't hold a skillet or lift a spatula. So, I grab a sleeve of saltines. I want to relax with a hobby but only one position is even tolerable. So, I scroll.
I lie down for sleep but can't get comfortable. Moving hurts. Breathing hurts. The bed touching me hurts.
I pray that tomorrow I won't wake up in pain. Or maybe even… at all.
So, yes, you are right. I am faking. I am faking living. And it's exhausting.
Poem by @straelynndrake
Reblog if you’ve had a “day of faking.” Add your own lines. Someone else out there needs to know they’re not alone.
