The Chronic Illness Internal War

The chronic illness internal war rages inside me.

One day things feel calm, and then out of nowhere everything is on alert and fired up, ready for battle.

I describe it like this because it's hard for people who don't have a chronic illness to truly understand.

They don't see the internal battle that happens almost daily.

The constant fight happening silently inside your own body.

The past few days for me have been a battle like no other.

It began with the typical exhaustion, pain, headaches, sore blurry eye, brain fog, ringing in my ears, dizziness, digestive issues, and that strange squeezing feeling that spreads through my whole body — from my fingertips to my toes.

The usual signs that tell me a flare is coming.

These symptoms happen every day to some degree, but this time it was worse.

You know when a flare is about to happen.

Even the shower becomes unbearable.

I felt breathless, like my body was being squeezed from the inside out.

My brain wanted to do a million things, but my body was letting me down.

I had a specialist appointment with my Rheumatologist, and I was trying so hard to find my words and make them come out in a way that made sense through the brain fog that felt like I was underwater.

I found myself talking with my hands a lot, and she seemed focused on that, which somehow made me feel even more fogged and overwhelmed.

I told her I felt like mud.

She said there are things happening in my body that she can't explain.

More specialists.

More referrals.

More tests.

As she says,

"We just have to find the right person."

But it feels like going in circles.

It feels lost.

Everything hurts, and when you react to medications, you can't even calm it the f**k down.

The same day I had my specialist appointment and visited family, I also attempted a grocery shop.

By the time I got back to the car, I sat there and cried because the lights, sounds, movement, and effort of everything had become unbearable.

People don't realise what grocery shopping actually involves when you have a chronic illness.

Finding the groceries.

Putting them in the trolley.

Unloading them at checkout.

Packing them back into the trolley.

Loading them into the car.

Taking them back out again.

Carrying them into the house.

Unpacking everything.

And mind you, I even had help from my mum, and she drove.

For most people, this is a simple task they do after work without thinking twice.

I used to be able to do that too.

But people with chronic illness understand the frustration and pain of realising that simple things are no longer simple.

They are huge.

After visiting family, I could barely get my words out.

It took so much effort just to put a sentence together.

I know they hear me.

I know they see me.

But I'm not sure they fully understand.

And honestly, how can they when they don't experience it themselves?

No matter how hard you try to explain what your body and brain are doing, you still end up feeling like you're not good enough.

Like everyone is judging you.

Like they're thinking:

"Just get up and get on with it."

That night I ate simple foods like plain chicken, rice, or potato — the kind of foods you hope your body might tolerate when everything feels inflamed and reactive.

Even then, I felt like I was going to pass out.

Eventually it eased once my body started digesting more, and burping helped clear my throat.

Cold water and the fan helped settle my heart rate and body.

Then came "sleep" — if you can even call it that.

It's restless.

It's pain.

It's vivid thoughts.

It's never truly switching off.

You are constantly on.

The next morning the dizziness hit again.

My ears were ringing.

My blood pressure felt low.

The exhaustion was so unbearable I could hardly move, but I was too stubborn to go back to bed because lying there is uncomfortable too...

and honestly, you feel guilty anyway.

So you sit on the couch and barely move all day.

Your heart rate goes from low to high.

My respiratory rate goes from low to high.

It becomes hard to take a deep breath in.

You consider hospital.

But then you think:

"What's the point?"

Because you already know the answer will probably be:

"Your tests are normal. Go home and rest."

So instead, you avoid the extreme lights and sounds that make everything worse and try to ride it out yourself.

I had a day where I barely moved because every step caused heart racing, dizziness, and that underwater current to sweep me away.

I'm here...

but I'm not.

And honestly, thank goodness the kids were away.

I hate when they see me like that — barely moving, barely eating, barely functioning, barely breathing.

Some people may ask:

"Why didn't you just go to hospital?"

And yes, some people would.

But when you know your body so well, and you know this will eventually pass, and you know what will probably be said...

sometimes you just choose rest instead.

The chronic illness internal war isn't something anyone should ever have to live with.

It takes...

and takes...

and takes...

while you keep hoping to somehow find peace beneath it all.

One of the things I've learned through all of this is how important it is to notice patterns.

Symptoms.

Triggers.

Flare days.

The things that help.

The things that don't.

That's one of the reasons I created My Health Companion.

A place to keep track of the things that can feel impossible to remember when you're in the middle of a flare.

A gentle companion for the good days, the hard days, and everything in between.

🤍 Explore My Health Companion