I have been asked many times what it is like to have myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME) and I have, for a long time, struggled to fully get across the impact this illness has on my life. To say that I am sick, tired and sore is just too vague. Plus, the condition fluctuates and everyone’s experience of ME is different. But, for me, this is how I would describe what it’s like.
Imagine that you are permanently encased head to toe in a suit of armour. The suit is rusted, stiff, unwieldy and incredibly heavy. Simple tasks like getting out of bed require an enormous effort, even lifting your arms to wash your hair is often too much. Walking around is extremely strenuous causing you to rapidly deplete your glycogen reserves. Within moments you have “hit the wall”. Your muscles shake and cramp, you feel sick and dizzy. If you don’t stop, you will almost certainly collapse. Cruelly, you may feel a sense of accomplishment in your efforts only to look behind you to see you have moved from your chair to the door. Anger and resentment build as you recall how you once took moving with ease for granted. But such intense emotions will rob you of what little precious energy you have left, so you catch yourself, and breathe.
On the inside of the suit of armour are thousands of spikes that press and tear into you whenever you move. Everything you do has to be measured and is carried out with trepidation. The spikes are not clean either so you are constantly fighting infection. Your bones, muscles, and joints ache, your temperature fluctuates wildly. The helmet, instead of protecting you, massively intensifies light and sound. Everyday noises such as the stacking of crockery or a door closing are excruciating and frightening. Light disorientates and burns. You retreat into darkness and silence, where you are isolated, scared and lonely. The outside world is now a painful place to be. In time your home will become a prison; a mausoleum, occupied by a living corpse.
The suit has poisoned your body. Eating causes intestinal discomfort leading to multiple, exhausting and painful trips to the toilet. Your brain is also affected. Words are hard to find. You can’t recall the names of people, even those you are close to, places or everyday items. Conversation is as challenging as a finals exam and reading, even simple text, tests your concentration to the limit. Your short-term memory is poor and you forget important information, constantly having to rely on others for help. Those around you become frustrated because you can’t express yourself or your needs, so you withdraw so as not to be a burden. Lack of interaction reduces your resilience; despair and boredom start to overwhelm you. Your confidence is lost in a sea of self-doubt.
Although your body yearns for rest, there is no refuge in sleep. You are haunted by dreams and nightmares. Even past memories of happy times or achievements are a reminder of what the suit has snatched away from you. What you were once so proud of is now torn to shreds, like a spiteful playground bully destroying a fellow pupil’s prize-winning project.
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In such discomfort, you plead with others for help, but there is very little to aid your plight. The suit is invisible to all except you, or others who have similar suits. There is no test yet developed that can detect it and nothing has been proven effective in removing it or mitigating its impact. You draw ire and derision from friends, family, colleagues, and peers who have no knowledge of the suit and what it does to you. Opinion-makers and celebrities mock your condition, even supposed experts in suit-related treatment cast aspersions, abandoning you to your fate. How can you be affected so badly by something that doesn’t exist, they cry, it must all be in your mind.
And yet, every suit of armour has a weakness; in this case, it is knowledge and acceptance. Knowledge through increased funding and medical research and acceptance socially through sharing experiences and education.
ME may be an invisible illness but the people who have it are not.