OK, so I was doing @morshmalliver ’s b-day present and I realized the image was gone (like, shit, first the contracture now this) and as you can see the universe wants to kill me, so I was sketching again and I just couldn’t do it right and somehow it ended up in sad shit.
Especially when you’re a woman and you put on makeup, gain some weight so that you’re still thin but not looking like a skeleton anymore men tend to think that everything’s fine. Because most men don’t understand that women can influence their appearance with makeup and the way they dress. But that doesn’t mean that you’re less sick.
During the school year I get asked multiple times a day, “why do you dress up for class?”, or “why do you care so much?” I don’t honestly care what people think, I dress up for me. I spent too many days in a hospital bed or in my pjs wishing I could feel pretty again and wear my clothes. Now when I feel well enough to get dressed, I take full advantaged of it. Everyday is a gift. You never know when your health will change and the little things start to become the big things.
Obligatory hospital selfie from yesterday. 102 degree fever. Pain everywhere. Apparently I might be septic. Felt so sick I couldn’t even take my braids down. 😑 I’m out now and on antibiotics, but send good vibes my way? ✨✨✨
It’s always fascinated me, how good we can become at masking symptoms of our chronic illnesses. So good in fact, that those around us never know just what it is we’re going through on a daily basis. I’m temped to draw comparison to animals, where masking illness until something is too wrong to hide is the norm, because doing anything else would mean death in the wild.
But surely we as humans have evolved further, haven’t we?
Lately I feel like all I’ve been doing is surviving. Go to work, come home. Try to get a little exercise in, dance when I’m able. And that’s all I can do. It leaves me exhausted. Daily I experience: Dizziness, lightheadedness, near blackouts, my heart racing off doing whatthefuckever, moments where I just can’t catch my breath, no matter what I do.
And I try to be healthy, because I need to do whatever I can to support a body that already feels like it’s given up. But I just keep going because I need to cling on to some sense of normalcy. And I’ve become damn good at makeup that makes me look like I’m alive rather than the pale, gross mess that I’ve become.
And I think that maybe I’ve become a little too good at it, because no one around me notices. Which is fine, how I prefer it really. Why else would I continue to put on this act? But when I say I’m sick, no one believes me. And it’s not that I’m looking for sympathy, but I would like a reaction other than anger when I need to call out once in a while. Because guess what? I’m not faking.
What they don’t know is that when Iaughingly say ‘you don’t want me there, I wouldn’t be much good to anyone anyway’, I’m sitting on the bathroom floor where I’ve been since 4am because I’m too weak to stand. That it hurts to breathe. That I’m scared. Instead I say ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be in on Tuesday.’
And I guess it’s my own fault, because whenever anyone DOES notice anything, my typical reaction is ‘LOLZ, heart problems” but more often than not it’s a dismissive ‘I’m fine’.
So that’s how I found myself in the doctor’s office yet again, repeating the words ‘I’m fine’ like a montra. As if saying the words over and over again will make them true.
Of course it won’t. Even my doctors aren’t quite sure what to do for me at the moment. Ironically enough, they seem to be the only ones that believe me when I say something’s wrong. Because guess what? This time I have the physical evidence to back me up.
But I’m really, really good at masking it when I want to. I’ve made a lifestyle out of trying to appear normal.And now it’s caught up with me.