getting/being sick
The general response to confirming my health issues have been enlightening, for lack of a better word.
I’ve found that many people simply never paid attention when things were bad — an impressive feat, considering how loudly miserable I was about my body as a child.
After any trip, event, or outing I would always be exhausted and in pain. I wouldn’t leave my bed (or the couch) because after finally sitting down my sore muscles would feel like drying concrete, threatening to break if I dared to move. As I got to be a teen, a sickly feeling and low-grade fever came to accompany these episodes as well.
Early in my 20s, I already couldn’t work more than a couple of days a week, and a day of chores would put me out for at least 48 hours.
None of this was a secret, mind you — people just didn’t hear me complain about it, I suppose.
However, they did notice when I stopped exerting that energy to show up.
Quick to guilt, to make excuses for why they can’t see me, to use my youth as a shield against any explanation.
I guess my words hold more weight now that a doctor has said “yes, actually, something IS wrong with you.”
Call me an asshole, but I don’t want to waste my good days on people like that.