I’m 28. I’m 5’6. I weigh 115lbs. Just because I look a certain way, doesn’t mean I’m healthy.
I smile and laugh all the time. I appear to have a bunch of energy. But only because I have been developing this mask for 15 years. I’m very, very good at wearing it.
And after I’m done wearing that mask for the day and I go home, you don’t see the pure exhaustion that destroys me afterwards. You don’t see the tears that soak my pillow or hear the sobs that fill the air night after night.
You wouldn’t even know (most of the time) that I am experiencing shooting pains while talking to you. Not to mention the 10+ symptoms also debilitating my mind and body all throughout the day, every single damn day.
When I scream out is when the pain is too much to bear. It zaps me from within, a pain so deep that nothing can provide relief. It can bring me to tears when I was laughing minutes before.
You probably think so many things upon seeing me. A cane, a wrist band. The natural things our eyes our drawn to. Then onto my legs and ankles/feet which have no bandages or braces. Confusion sets in, if you take the time to notice.
The looks I get are pathetically annoying. Apparently not everyone learned its impolite to stare. Yes, I see you giving me the elevator eyes, you’re not sneaky. And by the way, fuck off.
The next time you think I’m faking being sick, step back and realize that I’m actually always faking being healthy– I never have to fake sickness… it’s my life.
Just because I look happy, doesn’t mean I’m not struggling to live a “normal” life every single day. My happiness is a constant battle and a lot of days the Fibro wins, but I won’t stop continuing to work on me.