The Perennial Sam

During the Blog Carnival, I came across a post by Tokah describing how she is often not taken seriously with regard to her health issues.  This excerpt was particularly well written:

Over the years, I have been accused of exaggerating my symptoms, malingering, making excuses, etc.  As it turned out in the end, it was rather the obvious.  I understated my symptoms, worked harder than was healthy, and made excuses for why I just had to destroy myself … People don’t expect a chronically ill person to look happy or content.  Instead, we’re supposed to be dour and depressing to be around.

I worked nearly full-time for several years while living away from home, pursuing my education.  Since I’m only able to handle a few courses per term/year, I wasn’t eligible for full funding to cover the cost of living, and I didn’t want to go into debt anymore than I already had.  So while I took one or two courses, I worked anywhere from 30-40 hrs/wk.  I paid my rent, utilities, medical and grocery bills.  I was glad that I could make it to work as long as I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have had the means to be in school at all.

Try explaining to someone that you have a chronic illness or invisible disability when you appear to “have it together” though.  You get extensions on your projects? “But there’s nothing wrong with you,” was a phrase I heard repeatedly.  Eventually I made a joke out of my difficulty with school, and played my lack of progress off as laziness or disinterest.  Meanwhile, I was constantly berating myself for being, in my mind at the time, a failure.  I was trying to finish my courses, but due to my anxiety and mood disorder I always fell short.

I heard someone mention that as people age, they lose some of their filters with respect to expressing their opinions.  Someone suggested that they don’t care how people perceive them anymore, after all, if you can’t say what you want when you’re 80, when are you going to do it?  I feel sort of the same way about having had this illness for so long.  Most of my family isn’t aware of my situation, or simply knows that I have a “nervous personality,”or something - I’m not sure exactly what they’ve heard, but there seems to be a common misconception that I’m incompetent and won’t “make anything of myself” as my grandmother so loving expressed to the rest of my immediate family a few months ago.  I have gotten tired of pretending that I’m okay or that my problems are really due to some level of ineptness on my part.  I realize it’s my fault in the first place for encouraging a lack of understanding towards myself. 

However, recently I’ve started giving more honest answers when people ask me why I haven’t finished school.  This hasn’t gone over so well with everyone; apparently people are happier to believe that you lack intelligence than that you have a mental health issue.  But, after eight years with an ever-cycling depression, I don’t feel like there’s a need to “save face” anymore.  The person I once was has grown and changed into a totally different person in order to survive - not entirely comparable to the way in which a teen becomes an adult.  Via this illness I’ve felt betrayed by my body and mind and a growing sense of being the “Other.”  It is obvious to people who’ve known me for years that something is wrong.  What reason do I have to hide the fact that I’m ill?

That being said, I don’t give everyone full disclosure.  There’s no need for everyone to know the details of my health.  To share the intimate details of my experience would be to make myself vulnerable in a number of ways that aren’t necessary.  

My lack of progress is frustrating at times, but I’m still here.  I guess being stubborn is good for something. 

I’m comfortable enough with myself that living my life in a way that makes sense for me doesn’t embarass me, although it may confuse other people.  I say let them be confused.     

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