I wish you could see me on a good day.
I wish you could see how full of energy I can be; how willing I am to get things done, even when I’m tired.
I wish I could be a regular tired; the kind that is almost welcomed after a successful day of living life. I miss that kind of tired that feels like you’ve earned a good night of rest – the kind of tired that doesn’t come with guilt.
I wish I could explain what it feels like to be in pain every day. I think about this a lot. Yesterday, I broke into tears because I heard myself say, “I would never want someone to know what it’s like to be me.” It’s true. I wouldn’t wish this affliction on my worst enemy. How then, can people with chronic illness expect others to be able to understand us? It’s such a catch-22 because we so badly wish that people knew what we were going through, yet it seems virtually impossible unless they have actually experienced something similar.
Explaining chronic illness to others feels like trying to pass someone a handful of sand. No matter how careful you are, no matter how hard you grasp the sand, it slips through your fingers and falls to the ground. It feels impossible to fully explain your illness. Certain aspects of your life are not going to be understood by others. Some sand will always slip through the cracks of your fingers.
That’s okay! Who truly understands someone else’s life anyway? Wouldn’t that be boring? We all have so much to learn from each other and always will. So, my friends, what is it like to be me? I don’t know. You’ll just have to ask.