How does it feel to be sick

* written Q4, 2024, after I worked an industry event without eating for three days due to a chronic flare-up, then flew internationally in a supremely stupid move. My mother called me "death warmed over"*

My dad asked me how it felt to be sick. No one has ever asked me that before, and I had a lot of resting time to think of an answer. 

It feels helpless. Knowing there is nothing I can do to stop the infernal coughing. Or the inflammation I know is ravaging my body. Or knowing that I could eat identical meals, and sometimes one of them will tear up my stomach, and another time I will be totally fine. 

It's painful. I lay on my parents’ couch and needed to move. I wanted to go to the table to eat. I have to will each limb to move where I want it too, conscious of the searing pain to make it do what I want. It took me a good 15 minutes to convince my body to move from the couch to the table. I set goals for myself- I refuse to eat on a couch, as I know I have to move, and want the dignity of not be a ragdoll. The pain is probably the worst. I often try to convince myself the pain is in my head, and I'm stronger than it. I power through it, convincing myself I can walk the long distance, or carry the bag, or make it through the day. But sometimes I no longer have a choice, and find myself collapsing onto the couch, unable to move even for food as the pain and exhaustion of carrying it all day overwhelm me. 

It's actually the daily pain. Walking to the bus stop with aching knees. Sitting at work with an aching rib cage. There is always a level of pain in my day. Mostly I manage to push it to the back of my mind like a quiet beep- always there and annoying, but eventually you tune it out. 

It's debilitating. Each racking coughing set leaving me feeling like I have zero energy left. Walking up the stairs to my house, my legs burning with pain and my body wanting nothing more than to collapse on the couch. 

It's nauseating. No, really. Sometimes the taste in my mouth cannot change, no matter what I eat. Sometimes my mouth feels coated- why I have no idea. The identical meals again can have different tastes and hit in so many different ways. 

It's exhausting. It's daily. The pain, the exhaustion, the worry. There is no let-up. There never will be. Some days the weight of carrying chronic illness just becomes extremely hard to carry. But I don't have a choice.