Do you believe in karma? I often ponder this question to myself as I consider, what have I done to deserve this? I am going to talk about the relationship between chronic illness and mental health. A toxic storm of self hate, loathing and despair.

I have often heard the term ‘chronic illness’ referred to as a ‘sometimes’ illness. Sometimes I am fine, sometimes I am not. Sometimes I can dance and go to the gym, sometimes I can’t stand up without screaming in agony or being sick.

In 2019, after years of doctors visits, hospital appointments, countless tests and scans, and an operation, I finally got a diagnosis of adenomyosis. Don’t worry if you have never heard of it – I hadn’t either! Despite it being very common, it is the lesser-known ugly sister to endometriosis. Similar to endometriosis, the symptoms can vary from person to person. For me it ranges from intense pain, dizziness, sickness and brain fog which can flare up at any time. It often feels like I am being stabbed with something hot and sharp in my pelvis, this ignites the burning barbed wire inside my abdomen, which then starts to radiate pain throughout my body right down to my fingertips and toes. During a flare up, you will find me crying and writhing in pain on the floor or on my bed. As well as the obvious physical toll this has on me, I want to talk about the significant impact my illness has on my mental health.

I love spending time with my friends, family and partner. But I have lost count of the number of after plans I have had to cancel – how many dinners, events or nights out I could not manage. Not to mention the amount of absences from work. Even this blog, which I love, has had to take a backseat sometimes on the road to recovery. When a flare up strikes, I am forced to lay in bed resting, sleeping, or taking painkillers whilst waiting for the pain to subside. As I lay there, my mind wanders – will my friends stop inviting me, or will a disciplinary hearing be waiting for me at work? People want someone they can rely on, not a ‘sometimes’ friend or employee.

On top of this, for me, is the feeling of not being listened to by medical professionals. After my diagnosis, it has been a battle to get some individuals to take me seriously, understand my pain and offer me options for support. Not feeling like you are being heard is so frustrating when you have nothing left in the tank physically or emotionally as your illness has drained you. Having to admit that I would rather hold a gun to my head than experience the physical pain I am in, and seeing my loved ones’ faces filled with fear and concern is a harrowing experience. Then the guilt hits me hard for making them worry. It is a rollercoaster of emotions, and I know anyone suffering with any type of chronic condition may read my words and relate in some way.

I constantly feeling like I am letting everyone down, whether that is my partner, family, friends or work colleagues. I continually and obsessively apologise for my broken body. I also know that I am not as bad as other people with this condition, I feel like I need to pipe down and get on with it – this goes back to the comparative suffering I have written about before. It doesn’t serve any purpose and all I can focus on is navigating my own experience.

I focus on the things I can control – I have done so much research and tried so many different treatments and remedies. I have a small arsenal of coping tools for when I do have a flare up and am learning to give in to rest when I have to. The people around me are incredibly empathetic and supportive of understanding my limits, which is a big relief. When I am not having a flare up, I make it count. When I show up, I make myself present. I am good at my job – I add value where I can and bring my own stamp and personality to my work. I laugh until I cry with my friends – the friends that do count, will absolutely invite you out again and will continue to make memories with you. I enjoy writing and sharing my experience – hoping that in some way someone else may read it and see hope amongst my words – knowing that they are not alone.

I sometimes try to justify my pain and look for reasoning for my condition. I find it hard to let go – whether that is letting go of my inability to control my body, or letting go of looking for rationale.

The answer is – there is no reason. There is nothing I have ‘done’ to deserve it.

‘Sometimes’ there is no justification.

Written by Katie Ingram

Blogger @Poemstellium

Instagram: @katieingramauthor