I have fibromyalgia. I also have IBS / Crohn's Disease. As my fibromyalgia was diagnosed first I assume that the anxiety and stress that placed on me, both at home and in my work, led to the turmoil in my guts. And it's been that way ever since.
Almost thirteen years have passed since I was first diagnosed with fibromyalgia and, in that time, I cannot remember a day when I didn't have symptoms from it. Of course it ranged from mild to moderate, moderate to severe, but always there. After four years of constant pain I eventually began to experience symptoms of IBS which, I assumed, were related to the lower back pain and I instantly thought I had cancer. After many weeks of putting it off I eventually went to see my GP and after a few more tests I was diagnosed as having Crohn's Disease an incurable inflammatory bowel disease. Oddly all tests since initial diagnosis have shown no inflammation so my gastroenterologist has 'downgraded' my condition to Irritable Bowel Syndrome - but it affects me no less because of this downgrading!
So, having lived with chronic pain for almost thirteen years and bowel disturbances for the past eight and a half years, I thought I'd had my quota of 'invisible' illnesses but it appears that I was wrong. For the Gods have decided to test me, yet again, to see how I cope with another layer of invisibility.
This new invisible illness came out of nowhere - as did the other two - but rather than hit me with symptoms all of a sudden - fine one minute, stricken the next - this cloak of invisibility crept up on me over a period of about two weeks. I'm talking about depression.
Obviously, when you live with chronic pain 24/7 for 365 days a year you're going to have times when you feel a little down and fed up with yourself. I've experienced times like that before but I've always snapped out of it fairly quickly and resumed as "normal" a life as I could under the circumstances.
But this depression has gone much deeper than my previous bouts of 'fed-uppedness' (if that's a word?) This depression has really knocked me for six. This depression has been the most invisible of all of my invisible illnesses - with fibro and IBS my family and work colleagues can see me physically wincing with pain or running off to the loo or holding my guts - sometimes they can hear my symptoms too, so as far as invisibility goes they're somewhat apparent to the outside world.
Depression is a whole new ball of wax. Externally there is nothing to see. I laugh at funny TV shows, I act the fool and joke around at home and make pleasantries with my customers and colleagues at work. My face and body show no outward signs of being ill.
In my head I want to explode. I want to shout at people who annoy me - the ignorant customers who don't say please and thank you when I have to fawn over them like they were royalty, the stupid ones who change their mind halfway through a transaction or wander off to get something else leaving me with a growing queue. I want to curl up into a little ball and hide away instead of facing these people. At home I join in because I have an obligation to do so, not always because I want to. I'm short tempered with the ones I love most and I hate myself even more because of it - and so it builds up and up and up until, one day, I know it surely must explode. Yet all the time I fight it so that, externally, my face looks 'real' and 'normal' just as I've tried to hide my chronic pain and gut turbulence for so many years. I try to be a valued member of society but I value myself less and less each day - I feel unworthy of praise, of love, of life itself. Things I love to do are being abandoned - art, drawing, photography, cooking for my family all feel like the most arduous of chores now whereas, six weeks ago, they were my life.
Depression is the most heinous of invisible diseases because there isn't a scrap of evidence of its existence. It's all in my head. I should snap out of it. I should think positively. It could be worse. I could be paraplegic - all the things we're told never to say to someone with depression I've told them to myself over and over again - and it's right they are definitely the wrong things to say to someone with depression because I can't snap out of it, or think positively and it couldn't be worse (surely) and I'm sure most paraplegics feel the joy of life sometimes and I know it's all in my head because it's a mental illness, to do with the brain, which is found, in most people, in the head!
I have not, as yet sought treatment for this depression, prefering to try and fight it myself - but I think I'm losing the battle. My reasons for not seeking treatment are that my GP thinks I'm a malingerer already and I'm worried about the side effects any medication might have on my already feeble guts. I know in my heart what I need to do - I've told many people in my position in the past to get treatment as soon as possible so I'm going to have to bite the bullet........ before I take a bullet.
