Chronic illness comes with a range of symptoms; pain to hair loss, muscle weakness to incapacity, none of it is particularly fun. We have a whole host of doctors, specialists, and medical professionals trying to make us better, or at the very least alleviate our symptoms to the best of their abilities.
Over time, we become a medical file. Because, you’re primary aim is to get better when you’re ill. Isn’t it? All those drugs are helping, despite the side effects that make you gain weight, make you lose weight, make you nauseous, make your hair fall out, make you exhausted… It’s worth it?
Sometimes no. Actually, sometimes feeling normal is your primary aim. Sometimes feeling attractive is your primary aim. Sometimes just not being defined by this bloody illness is the ultimate aim.
Some days, getting “better” is more for other people than it is for us.
The bit that is for us rather than other people is eating that fully gluten cake because, fuck it. It’s wrapping our hair in a million scarves to feel attractive. It’s handing you the oil and asking you to rub the sore bits (for reference, that’s all the bits). It’s you telling me you’re good with just cuddling. Possibly forever. It’s also the understanding nod when I’m snappy because I’m sick to death of my body not working and I’m just raging at the world.
Being the corpse bride isn’t the most fun experience in the world, but it’s actually OK to have a temper tantrum about it. Enjoy the things that make you feel human. Just don’t forget to look after yourself too xx