A blog by ‘A Human Person’. @humanpersonish
I hid my undiagnosed illness for four years. It was my biggest, guiltiest secret; a shame-ridden enigma buried deep within me. I was trapped in limbo, and there transformed from a carefree twenty-something into a lonely, frightened woman. And without the support of doctors, was left to smilingly tolerate all of it.
During my futile visits to the GP, I’d have the same response, “Well, I can see you’re upset, but there’s nothing we can do. Would you like to try antidepressants?” Leaving in a hurry, cheeks stinging with humiliation, I’d vow each time never to go back. And one day I did stop, deciding instead to accept the fact that getting better wasn’t an option. Then came the solution – I would never speak of the ‘illness’ again.
Without a diagnosis, I was ashamed to live in my own sickly body. In a state of perpetual conflict, I’d psychologically disown it, wishing it belonged to someone else. I started lying to it, “You’re fine – the problem is in your head”. And every time I lied, it hit me with an onslaught of terrible symptoms: a cruel form of rebuke.
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