Life is hard enough without having every other person in it telling you that you’re “overreacting” or that you need to “suck it up.” Living with an invisible illness is just as debilitating as any other, yet those of us who suffer from one rarely receive any kind of recognition. No, my bones may not be broken. No, my illness won’t show up on a CT scan, x-ray, or blood work. No, you can’t physically see that I’m sick; but that doesn’t mean I’m healthy, either.
My insomnia keeps me up at night, all night, every night. My mind continuously races as the minutes turn to hours and the darkness fades back into sunlight. Strangers make comments like, “Wow, don’t you look tired?” while family and friends try to gently ask, “How much sleep did you get last night, hun?”
On average, I’m lucky if I get two or three hours of sleep every night. It isn’t even a consecutive two or three hours, either. I’ll sleep for a half hour here and twenty minutes there while, in between, pointless scenarios fill my mind for the majority of the night.
Just because I only look “a little worn out” doesn’t mean that’s all there is to it. Try to put yourself in the shoes of someone who has insomnia. Try to imagine only getting a few hours of sleep in comparison to your seven or eight.
My anxiety keeps me generally unfocused, as I’m constantly worrying about anything and everything that, to others, may seem pointless. The everyday anxiety that I deal with is difficult, but it is nothing compared to never-anticipated, full-blown anxiety attacks. My mind goes a million miles a minute and it feels as if my airways are constricted.
I can’t get enough air into my lungs, and the anxiety fights me for my own breath. My eyes sting as the tears come, and the ever-present knot in my stomach tightens even more. I feel like I’m drowning in my thoughts and the panic rises through my entire body, causing me to shake and hyperventilate. I feel like the whole world is crashing down around me with no lifeline in sight. I have full-on panic attacks that can’t compare to simply “feeling anxious”.
Sometimes I remember every single dreadful second of my anxiety attack; other times I black out completely and can’t remember one detail - let alone the entire experience. The level of my anxiety may vary depending on what is going on in my day-to-day life, but just because I look “fine” doesn’t mean that’s all there is to it. Try to put yourself in the shoes of someone who has anxiety. Try to imagine being in the ocean with waves constantly crashing around you and the tide bringing you under over and over again, without it allowing for you to catch your breath.
My PTSD comes and it goes, but when it does come, it comes full-force and without invitation. All it takes is for my heart to race and my breathing to increase, is someone touching my neck or sneaking up on behind me. My switch is suddenly flipped from feeling normal, to uneasy and on edge.
Sometimes hearing a car do a burn-out, or smelling the stench of cigarette smoke, or seeing a black truck is all it takes to transport my mind from the present to a part of my life I seem to constantly relive. On the rare occasion that I sleep long enough to get to REM sleep, my brain is occupied with nightmares of the things I try my hardest to forget. I rarely ever dream, for the nightmares I have usually play on a never-ending track as my body tries to rest.
Just because I look “restless“ or like I’m “not paying attention” doesn’t mean that's all there is to it. Try to put yourself into the shoes of someone who has PTSD. Try to imagine your life suddenly being interrupted at a moment's notice, with your mind being dragged back to the worst time in your life.
Next time, before you judge my illness because it doesn’t show up on a physical test, try to imagine how I feel with the constant bombs that love to drop into my life. Try to imagine the symptoms I experience when I’m alone, when I’m in public, or when I’m in the car. Mental illnesses don’t care where you are or what you’re doing; they bulldoze your thoughts, your mind, and your life. Please, consider this before you pass judgment on someone who is suffering internally.
