I’ve spent so much time in the past few months looking back at who I used to be, before all of this. Before the sickness. Before the daily battle that has become my life. I’ve grieved for the past, for the person I once was — healthy, stable, able to go to work, function through the day, and live a life without being held back by the weight of constant illness. I wasn’t always this way. I didn’t always wake up dreading what my body would put me through. I didn’t always feel like I was carrying a burden that no one could see or understand. But that’s the reality now. And that’s the part I’ve struggled with the most — the grief. The loss of a life I thought would always be mine.
It’s difficult to explain to people who haven’t experienced something similar. It’s not just about being sick once in a while. This is not the common cold or a flu that passes after a few days. This is an unrelenting series of symptoms that come and go unpredictably, often showing up when I least expect it. The nausea, the vomiting, the headaches, the body aches, the fatigue — it all hits me like a wave, sometimes before I even step into the building where I work, sometimes hours later when I’m trying to focus on the tasks at hand. And when the wave hits, it’s hard to hold on. I’ve missed work. I’ve left early. I’ve struggled to make it through the day, only to find myself curled up in the restroom, hoping it will pass. But it doesn’t pass. It keeps coming back.
The thing about this illness is that it’s both visible and invisible. The symptoms are visible in the most physical sense. The vomit can be seen. It’s real. It’s there. The janitors have had to clean it up. They’ve seen me struggle. They’ve seen me physically suffer. But they don’t see what’s going on inside of me. The invisible part is far more complex. No one knows what’s happening beneath the surface. No one can explain why it’s happening. No one can pinpoint the trigger, and no one can give me answers. It’s a confusing mess of symptoms without a clear cause, and that is what makes it the most frustrating. There’s no tangible thing to point to. It’s all the unknown.
My coworkers have seen me sick. They’ve seen me missing work. They’ve seen me leave early, sometimes unable to make it through the day. My managers have had to look for me, wondering where I’ve gone, why I haven’t returned to my desk. They know something is wrong, but like me, they don’t have the answers. It’s not just my physical absence that they notice, but the visible toll this sickness takes on me. And yet, the solutions remain out of reach. I’m in a cycle of uncertainty, unable to break free from the constant question of why this is happening to me.
I’ve seen so many doctors, specialists, and experts, all with their own theories, their own suggestions, and their own plans for me. Yet, nothing has worked. The medications, the allergy shots, the sprays, the pills — none of it has brought relief. The doctors tell me the same thing: “It could be environmental,” but no one can tell me what in the environment is causing it. I’ve become a patient who feels like a puzzle no one can solve. And I’m tired. I’m so tired of hearing, “We’re not sure,” or “Let’s try this next.” I’m tired of being told that this might be my new normal when I don’t even understand why this is happening in the first place.
I think the hardest part is feeling invisible. The symptoms are invisible. The pain is invisible. But that doesn’t make it any less real. No one else at my job seems to be affected the way I am. No one else seems to have the same battles, the same struggles. And I wonder, what did I do wrong? Why is this happening to me? I used to be just like everyone else, able to show up to work and do my job without thinking twice about my health. Now, it feels like I’m constantly fighting against my own body, every step of the way.
I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many things. I’ve tried to push through, to ignore it, to pretend like I’m okay. But it doesn’t work. You can’t push through something when it feels like it’s inside of you, controlling you. You can’t ignore the constant toll it takes on your mind and body. I’ve reached out for help, asked for accommodations, tried to make people understand, but it feels like I’m shouting into an empty room. I’m the sick person at work, and no one seems to know how to help. No one seems to be able to offer any answers.
But here’s the thing: even though it feels like I’m stuck, even though it feels like I’m losing, I’m not giving up. It’s easy to feel like I’m at the end of my rope. It’s easy to feel like I’ve tried everything and there’s no hope left. But deep down, I know I can’t stop fighting. Even when I feel defeated. Even when the days seem endless. Even when the frustration threatens to overwhelm me — I won’t stop. I refuse to stop.
Because even though I’m uncertain about what’s happening to me, I still have hope. I still believe that somewhere, somehow, there’s an answer out there. Maybe it’s in a test I haven’t taken yet. Maybe it’s in a doctor I haven’t met. Maybe it’s in the right environment, or the right treatment, or the right conversation that hasn’t happened yet. I don’t know. But I’m not ready to give up. I’m far from giving up.
And so, I continue. I keep searching, I keep advocating for myself, I keep reaching out. Because at the end of the day, I am still here. And that means I still have a chance. I still have a voice. And as long as I have those things, I won’t stop fighting for the answers I deserve.
I may not know what’s happening, but I do know this: I am not giving up. And that, in itself, is the victory I hold onto.
