Alrighty then, it's my circus? Yep, yes, it is. My very own, one of a kind three ring spectacle. Each diagnosis is a side show of its own. And those monkeys? Yeah, they’re absolutely mine. But let me offer this tidbit. I never signed up for any of this. I don't know how I got here either. I didn’t ask to be sick. I had no intent of living with one, two, three, oh heck. Let's just cut to the chase. Some people collect hobbies; I collect autoimmune diseases like a mutant.
I have no control over what my body does. I just keep debuting side effects like surprise character reveals. Be it hitting the floor like a brick, seeing bug like hallucinations or my skin turning purple on the regular circus life is a misunderstood, exiling and complicated life.
Never in mt wildest dreams did I think of joining the circus. But here I am anyway. At almost 53 years old, my morning wakeup call involves herding flying monkeys, tripping over my own feet, keeping a straight face as havoc breaks free. Yep, it’s all fun and games until the elephant gets loose, huh?
Ok, so let’s be honest. My illness scares people. It may even frighten you. It’s the elephant in the room. Chronic illness isn’t a comfortable conversation. It’s why most spoonies, including myself, don’t like to talk about it. We dance around it. Personally, I rarely tell the world I’m in the hospital, or at home dehydrated and unable to get up and move around in the moment it’s happening. I might tell you afterwards but never really while I’m suffering.
Why? I’ve learned my lesson. Stay placid, act untroubled, keep a straight face, your mouth shut and don’t disturb the peace. And that’s what I do. I don’t want to make life uncomfortable for anyone. Just know this...because I give you an honest answer doesn’t mean I'm asking you to carry my burden. I'm not. It’s mine to carry.
So don’t worry, if you ask me how I’m doing, the answer will always be “ok, I’m fine”.
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