It’s no secret that I’ve never exactly been a fan of children. It’s hard to tell if this is because kids are actually annoying monsters, or if it’s because I’ve always known that having children would be difficult for me and I’m harboring some serious anger and resentment. (It’s both.)
As I get older, and people around me start reproducing more and more, I’m starting to wonder if there’s something more to it. As someone who is sick, I don’t like to think about the future. It’s almost as if I can’t. I feel like I have to focus so much energy on just making it through another pain flare, another doctor’s appointment, another period, another new medicine… that there’s no time left to ponder a future beyond that. And in the off chance that I do try to ponder a future for myself, it’s filled with uncertainty and extreme anxiety. How could I be a mother when I can barely make it to work every day? How could I be a mother when I am sometimes so filled with depression from living with these illnesses that I cannot make it out of bed? How could I be a mother when I feel like I can barely take care of myself? How could I write a book when I can’t even write a damn blog post every day? I can hardly think about my life five months from now, let alone five years. Because when sick people think about the future, they really just think about more pain.
While other people are trying to get book deals or sell their scripts or become their own boss, I feel like I’m just trying to work 8 hours without having to leave and go home to get my heating pad. My illnesses hold me back in many ways, but when I feel like they hold me back the most is when I think about the future. My future.
Sometimes I see my life as a series of really bad pain days, with some good ones in between. The bad days start to blur together and before I know it, I’m 25 years old wondering what comes next. Wondering how I’m going to work my way up the corporate ladder if I have 25 more years of struggling to make it out of bed. Wondering how I’ll be able to maintain relationships if I still have this anger in my heart five years from now. And most of all, wondering how I’m going to fit it all in if I have to spend half my life in pain.
I’m not angry that other people are accomplishing wonderful things. I’m just angry that I feel like I can’t accomplish my dreams because I’m sick. And I’m angry because I know that isn’t true. I just wish I was capable of seeing that truth every day.