Fear Is Bigger Then Monsters In Closets

In my life, I have been afraid, of swarms of bees, being stranded on an island, or even high up places. There is one fear though that is bigger. I’m afraid of not living. Yes, that is right, I’m not afraid of dying but the chance to miss out on living.
My health is a mess and each day it sinks in a bit more that I will never be healthy. I have to go through a grieving process that this ideal body that I once longed for isn’t what I have got. This is something I have been struggling with for the past few months. I have a body that is fighting to function. One that is covered in scars from being poked and prodded more than a few times. My body is a canvas for the life that I have lived and each mark has a story; It is there for a reason.
So how do I deal with fear? I avoid those things that scare me. I bottle it up and don’t tell anyone truly how scared I am, and yet I am telling the entirety of the internet. I am afraid to go to the doctor because all I am ever told is how I will never get better. How what I am dealing with they don’t know much about. How they don’t know what exactly is wrong with me except that I am one very sick girl.
I am afraid to tell people because I don’t want to worry them. I don’t want them to feel the depths of my medical woes so I shelter them and filter the information that I think they can handle. Nobody knows about the dark nights in the ER bargaining for my life with God or how I stop breathing frequently in an attempt to control my pain. I mask my symptoms so that I don’t make things hard for others. I never want people I care about to think about me differently or to be overwhelmed by me.

 

In the past, I have had countless people judge me for my health. I don’t expect people to understand what is happening to me especially since I don’t let people fully in. I have had people tell me that I am faking being sick, that it is a choice, or that it is too hard to handle. It’s ironic that something that I am most scared of is the same thing that I can’t fully hide even if I try my best.
I can’t hide my discoloured limbs, I can’t hide my limp as I wobble along, I can’t hide my episodes of brain fog and mental confusion.
Sometimes the hardest part of being sick is accepting what is happening to you and allowing others in to help you through that process.
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