Invisible Disability

me at the gym

I really hate admitting it sometimes… but I am disabled. I don’t have a visible disability. I don’t walk with a cane or use a wheelchair. But my disabilities impact my life in major ways nonetheless, including my weight and lifestyle. I have a lot of health issues, but the few that really matter are bipolar disorder, hypothyroidism, chronic bicep tendinitis, and a poorly-healed tendon in my ankle. With all of these issues combined, I’m in constant pain, constantly tired, and often too anxious or depressed to leave my home or do much activity. Add to that the nausea that I get sometimes after I eat or while doing physical activities, and I’ve had to take a medical leave at my gym.

This pains me because I love physical activity. I love lifting weights and I’m considering belly dancing classes (that’s if I can get well enough first to take them). It’s not easy for me to get to the gym, even without the pain and nausea. Anxiety is one thing I haven’t been able to get under control with meds yet. I can barely leave the house by myself. I can’t even run to the store without having to beg my husband to come along. My anxiety is non-specific, meaning I”m not anxious about anything in particular. It’s just a nervousness that overwhelms me at the thought of going out alone.

But that’s not even the worst part. Sometimes I’m just too damned tired to do anything. Hypothyroidism fatigue is a special kind of fatigue. I can honestly say I’ve never felt any other fatigue like it. It’s a bone-deep tiredness, a physical tiredness that surpasses that of a hard day’s work, or a night with no sleep. I’ve been so tired I couldn’t even feed myself (which, hey, spirals down into eating disordered thoughts pretty quickly). I’ve been so tired that I thought I wouldn’t even care if I died. That’s a special kind of tired, folks.

Then there’s the injuries. I can’t do any exercises with my arms. The chronic tendinitis is severe, and after over a year of physical therapy and several steroid shots, it only seems to be getting worse. Next step is an MRI, but that’s beside the point. Because of my ankle, I can’t run or jog, or even walk very long. And if that weren’t enough, I get physically ill when I exercise (that’s the hypothyroidism coming back to bite me).

I don’t know if you know this, but bipolar and hypothyroidism also effect one’s weight. Depression and stress are known to cause weight gain, and guess what bipolar is? That’s right, a lifetime of depression and stress. I’ve mentioned before, but I was very thin before my bipolar symptoms started as a young child. When the bipolar hit, so did a whole lotta weight. Then there’s the hypothyroidism, which I’ve had (mostly untreated) for about ten years. And everyone knows hypothyroidism not only causes weight gain, but makes it virtually impossible to lose weight. Hence why I’ve never even yo-yo dieted. Many people lose and gain and lose and again, but me? I’ve never lost. Maybe that’s helped me accept my weight the way it is — having a constant knowledge that my body will never be smaller, not even temporarily.

So… who cares? So what? Why am I blogging about my stupid invisible disabilities? Because as someone with invisible disabilities, I’m often ashamed to admit it. I shouldn’t be ashamed because of all the Judgey Judgersons who think that health isn’t multidimensional or that everyone’s story is the same. I shouldn’t be ashamed to say that I don’t owe an active lifestyle to anyone. I only owe my own well-being to myself, in whatever way that I can manage it.

I recently got into a kerfuffle over a photo of mine being stolen on Facebook. It was a fitness photo. I was embarrassed that I don’t still go to the gym, and haven’t for months. But why should I be embarrassed about that? Why should anyone? No one needs to cite a disability to be excused from the gym. They can just plain not want to go. No one owes health to anyone.

So I’m not going to feel ashamed. I don’t go to the gym. I sit around most of the day, exhausted from simple tasks, and I’m not ashamed. What I am is sick. Not only sick and tired of this body that I constantly feel has betrayed me, but physically and mentally ill in a way that does not allow me to have the lifestyle that I wish. Every day I have to count my spoons and I’m lucky if I manage to make meals and clean up after myself. I won’t be bullied into doing things that are past my limits just because someone doesn’t want to see another “lazy” fatty. Screw you and your self-righteousness. You don’t get to decide for me where my priorities lie. Being thin will NOT come at the cost of everything else.

Maybe when my bipolar is stable, maybe when my thyroid disease is under control, maybe when my shoulders are healed (though my ankle never will be). Maybe then. Maybe. But if I do start working out again, it’s my decision, my choice, my body, my priorities. No one gets to decide except for me.