Sick sick. Sick of being tired. Sick of the pain. Sick of the cocked head to the side of “poor you”. Sick of finally figuring it all out? Sick of no answers?
Sounds familiar right? Sure I have a lot on my diagnosis sheet. It is an extensive list. (Just for reference I’ll put it below.) But sick doesn’t need to define you. Just like fat doesn’t. (You HAVE fat, you aren’t fat).
I have Elher’s-Danlos Syndrome #3, (Elasti-girl if you will.) Soy allergy, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, Recurrent broken bones, ADHD, Depression, anxiety, extreme bone pain, vitamin deficiencies galore, various joint impingements, chronic migraines, unknown causes of abnormal blood counts, nosebleeds. Those are just a few.
I’m always hated the concept that a whole diagnosis or symptom can now define who you are as a person. People stop treating you like everyone else. They walk on eggshells. They don’t make jokes. They won’t let you laugh at how broken your body has become. I truly believe that it makes people uncomfortable. But if I don’t find the humor and something positive in all the saddness, what’s the point of existing or even wanting to exist?
Today find the humor. Find the teeny tiny tunnel of hope to the migraine that won’t go away, or the joints that won’t stop throbbing.
You aren’t alone. It sucks. I try to think it’s God’s way of telling me to chill. Or to show my kids that I’m human too and how to take care of themselves. So they know how to care for their broken in the future.
Broken isn’t a matter of if, it’s a matter of when.