Sometimes I feel a great need to justify my situation. I shouldn’t have to, though.
The skin on my legs is really sore. I haven’t felt this sore in a while. But these past few days I have been in a lot of pain, to the point where I have been walking bandy-legged, have needed to elevate my legs when sitting, and needed help buckling my shoes because I can’t bend down or lift my legs high enough to do so.
While my illness varies with severity and pain, to others it may seem constant. My face is always red. People don’t see my body. Most people don’t notice when I am in pain unless they know me very well. And if I looked the same last time they saw me, then I must be the same now. I guess it’s like an invisible illness inside a very visible one.
There are a few people that I call on for help. I know they understand that my illness fluctuates, and I trust them seeing my at my worst. These people mean so much to me. They are like my family because my family aren’t here in the same city as me. I rarely ask for help or special treatment when I am sore. Most of the time I just grin and bear the pain and do what every other able bodied person can do. Waiting in a queue when I can hardly stand up. Walking. Carrying heavy loads. Cooking and cleaning.
So when I do ask for help, or get offered help from people who don’t know me too well, I am truly grateful. But to be questioned about receiving help, or being called a princess when I am too sore to do something that others can, is very hurtful.