Trying to Function with Invisible Illnesses

Mar 9, 2017
3 min read

The thing about having depression, anxiety, bipolar, PTSD and any of the various things I'm personally familiar with - and which I'm sure extends to many other illnesses and maladies - is that...it's something you have. Many folk will say: "It's in your mind, you can overcome it." And there have been many times in my life when that is most entirely and assuredly true. But sometimes, it isn't. Sometimes, I don't have control over how I'm feeling. I can try to force myself to do things that my entire being is rebelling against... but it seldom works out. Trying to cook dinner, for example; I'm quite a good cook, but any meal I've cooked when my heart isn't in it is really quite awful. Everything in life is like that...I can force myself to do errands and chores when I'm not feeling up to it, but the quality of the action is significantly below my personal best, and even my most personally acceptable worst.

And yet, the issues I have are known as "invisible illnesses," because the symptoms are considered invisible - depression does not manifest as pustules on the skin, I do not break out in a rash when I have anxiety attacks. But to call them invisible? Those closest to me can clearly see when I am struggling. They can see the light in my eyes has gone dim, and the melody has faded from my voice. My child can see it when I am still for longer periods at a time, and anyone who watches me can see how desperately I want to try, and yet that I do not. These are the physical manifestations of my illnesses. I feel so much guilt when I am gripped by dysfunction. With good reason - I have things to do. I have a child to educate, a home to run, relationships to sustain. A body to keep healthy. Work to keep on top of. Each of these things I mentioned are things about which I am extremely passionate. They are the reasons I keep moving forward, the seeds of my happiness in life. But when I cannot function - when even breathing feels like a chore - I am unable to do these things, and the perceived pressure (as well as the external pressure of imaginary people who were once in my life, which I suppose is much the same thing, thought many people also have actual external pressure as well) is crippling.

I wish that I knew how to fix this. I wish that I did not have flashbacks and meltdowns every other day. I wish that I did not awaken with hardly any air in my lungs, from panicking before I am even fully cognitive.

I think it may be important to offer ourselves forgiveness for our dysfunction. I know it isn't easy, and that it doesn't feel right. But realistically...heaping even more negativity on ourselves when we're already so very low can only be damaging. It is up to us to glean any constructiveness that we are able to from each and every day, or week, or month. It is up to us to know and respect our own limits, and trust ourselves that this will pass - naturally, with psychiatric assistance or medication, with naught but time.