I’ve always been open about my condition in an effort to make the people in my life better understand why I can’t do certain things, or how it will impact me if I do. But I know many more who prefer not to talk about it, or keep it hidden because they feel weak, or ashamed that they have an invisible illness; one that gives the impression that all is fine but that will rob you of any dignity once you have struggled through an event.
I don’t know why I feel the need to share how ME/Fibro changes the way I live my life. Probably because it’s easier to let work colleagues know that my memory is so shocking that if they don’t see me write something down it isn’t going to happen (no guarantee there either I’m afraid!). I don’t want to have to explain each sickness absence when I’m too exhausted to clamber our of bed, or why I need to block out office conversation with my earphones. It’s simpler to have it out in the open and allow people to accept that although I look ok, I’m really not.
Someone recently said to me that, by writing, I could inspire others with similar struggles to live their dreams too; that it’s always easier to push yourself to accomplish a goal when you know it can be done, and I could help demonstrate that it can be done. Regardless of if I could inspire, I have to do it for myself. I want to be a writer and be published and live the life I dreamt up when I was twelve years old. That life didn’t include two devastating disabilities, but whose dream would? But that doesn’t mean it’s not still in reach.