There are parts of chronic illness people expect.
Pain. Fatigue. Doctor appointments. Medications. Procedures. Cancelled plans. The occasional unsolicited medical advice from somebody whose cousinās neighbor stopped eating gluten and was apparently cured of everything.
But anger?
We donāt talk about that one nearly enough.
And chronic illness can make you angry.
Sometimes I am angry at my illnesses. Sometimes I am angry at my body. Sometimes I am angry that everyone else gets to keep moving while I have to stop and negotiate with mine.
And sometimes Iām not even sure what Iām angry about.
It isnāt necessarily the dramatic, flip-a-table kind of angryāalthough depending on the day, letās not completely rule it out. š
Sometimes it is irritation.
Sometimes it is snapping over something that normally wouldnāt bother me.
Sometimes it is crying because one tiny inconvenience became the final straw.
And sometimes it is simply:
āI am so damn tired of having to manage this.ā
š¤ Sometimes It Really Isnāt About the Small Thing
You know those moments when something ridiculously minor happens and suddenly you are furious?
The remote falls between the couch cushions.
Someone asks you one question too many.
You drop something after finally getting comfortable.
An appointment gets rescheduled.
Your phone charger stops working.
Someone innocently asks, āAre you okay?ā
And internally youāre thinking:
NO. AND NOW THIS CHARGER HAS PERSONALLY BETRAYED ME.
š
From the outside, the reaction may look completely disproportionate to what just happened.
But what people donāt see is everything that happened before the charger committed its unforgivable offense.
The pain.
The fatigue.
The symptoms Iāve been quietly managing.
The appointments.
The medications.
The phone calls.
The insurance nonsense.
The things I wanted to do but couldnāt.
The things I did anyway and am now paying for.
The constant calculations involved in living inside a body that sometimes changes the rules without notifying me first.
That little thing wasnāt necessarily the problem.
It may have simply been the last thing I had emotional room for.
Maybe I wasnāt reacting only to what happened in that moment. Maybe I was reacting to everything that moment landed on top of.
š Chronic Illness Requires Constant Management
One thing I donāt think people always understand about chronic illness is how much mental energy it requires.
Iām not simply living my life while having chronic illnesses.
I am constantly managing something.
How much energy do I have?
How far am I walking?
Where is the bathroom?
Did I take my medication?
Do I need to rest now so I can function later?
Is this symptom annoying, concerning, or emergency-room worthy?
Can I eat this?
Should I eat this?
Will one of my roommates object if I eat this?
And, perhaps most importantly:
Which roommate is currently plotting against me? š
Crohnās and MG apparently donāt believe in submitting maintenance requests before causing problems.
And this management doesnāt clock out.
There is no PTO from chronic illness.
Apparently, my roommates didnāt read the employee handbook.
So yes, there are days when my patience is thinner than usual.
Because sometimes I am not angry about what is happening right now.
I am exhausted from everything I have been carrying.
š§ļø There Is Grief Mixed Into the Anger, Too
This is another uncomfortable part.
Chronic illness comes with grief.
Not necessarily grief for an entire former life, because there are still beautiful, hilarious, meaningful, completely ordinary moments happening right now.
But there can be grief for individual losses.
The energy I thought Iād have that day.
The plans I had to change.
The independence I temporarily needed help with.
The body functions I once took for granted.
The spontaneity that now requires contingency plans.
The version of a day I pictured in my head before my body decided it had alternate plans.
Sometimes anger is easier to feel than grief.
So āIām pissed offā comes out when what is underneath it is:
āIām tired of losing things to this.ā
And sometimes those losses seem small to everyone else.
But they arenāt always small to me.
That distinction matters.
š” But Sometimes Iām Angry Because Iām Actually Angry
There is something else I think is important to say.
Not every moment of anger needs to be explained away by chronic illness.
Sometimes something really is frustrating.
Sometimes something is unfair.
Sometimes someone crossed a boundary.
Sometimes I have every reason to be irritated.
And sometimes Iām angry because something actually deserves my anger.
Chronic illness doesnāt invalidate every emotion I have any more than it explains every emotion I have.
I donāt want every emotion reduced to:
Sheās tired.
Sheās sick.
Sheās having a bad health day.
No.
Sometimes Kia is irritated because somebody is irritating Kia. š
That is also allowed.
The difference Iām learning to recognize is whether Iām responding to this moment or whether this moment just happened to land on top of everything else.
š« And Then Comes the Guilt
Oh, because apparently being overwhelmed wasnāt enough.
Now we get to feel guilty about being overwhelmed.
Fantastic. š
Maybe I snapped at someone who didnāt deserve it.
Maybe I withdrew.
Maybe I didnāt answer the phone.
Maybe I said, āI donāt care anymore,ā when I actually cared very muchāI simply didnāt have another ounce of emotional energy available.
And afterward comes:
Why did I react like that?
Sometimes an apology is necessary.
Chronic illness can explain a reaction, but it doesnāt automatically excuse hurting someone.
That is something I think is important to acknowledge.
But accountability and self-compassion can exist in the same room.
I can say:
āI shouldnāt have spoken to you that way, and Iām sorry.ā
While also recognizing:
āI was overwhelmed, and I need to pay attention to what pushed me to that point.ā
Both can be true.
Understanding why I reached my limit isnāt about giving myself permission to treat people badly.
Itās about learning to recognize the warning signs before I get there again.
š Sometimes I Need to Step Away
I am learning that I donāt have to solve everything while I am standing at the edge of my patience.
Sometimes I need quiet.
Sometimes I need music.
Sometimes I need the ocean.
Sometimes I need to bake something.
Sometimes I need Winnie the Pooh, Harry Potter, or whatever form of comfort my brain has selected for todayās emergency meeting.
And sometimes I need to laugh.
Because humor remains one of my favorite ways of reminding myself:
This moment is hard. It is not necessarily permanent.
Taking a moment doesnāt mean I donāt care.
It may actually be what allows me to come back and care without exploding over an innocent phone charger.
Although that charger is still on probation. š
šµ Music Playingā¦
āShake It Outā ā Florence + The Machine
Because sometimes there isnāt a beautifully packaged lesson waiting at the end of a difficult emotion.
Sometimes I just have to acknowledge it, feel it, figure out what it is trying to tell me, learn what I can from it, and eventually shake some of it loose.
š Reflection Corner
Iām learning not to automatically label every moment of irritability as me āhaving an attitude.ā
Sometimes it is a signal.
Maybe I need rest.
Maybe I am overstimulated.
Maybe Iāve been pushing too hard.
Maybe I am hurting more than I realized.
Maybe something actually needs to be addressed.
Or maybe I have spent the entire day negotiating with Crohnās and MG and my customer-service voice has officially closed for business. š
The goal isnāt to never become angry.
Anger is an emotion, not a character flaw.
The goal is to recognize what it may be trying to tell meāand decide what I want to do with that information.
Sometimes the thing that makes me angry isnāt the thing Iām angry about. It is simply the thing that arrived after I had already reached my limit.
So when my fuse gets shorter, Iām learning to ask myself a different question.
Not:
āWhat is wrong with me?ā
But:
āWhat have I been carrying today?ā
Because maybe I wasnāt reacting only to one little thing.
Maybe that little thing arrived after the pain, fatigue, symptoms, appointments, responsibilities, disappointments, adjustments, and everything else I had already been carrying.
And recognizing that gives me an opportunity to do something Iām still learning to do:
Give myself compassion before I reach empty.
Because I shouldnāt have to completely fall apart before deciding I deserve a little grace.
š¬ Your Turn
If you live with chronic illness, have you noticed that exhaustion, pain, symptoms, appointmentsāor simply having to manage your body every dayācan shorten your patience?
How do you know when youāre approaching your limit?
What helps you come back from it?
And perhaps the harder question:
Have you learned to give yourself compassion before you reach that limit instead of only afterward?
š Thank you for spending a little time with me inside The Dual Diagnosis Diaries.
Living with chronic illness is complicated. Some days are educational. Some are emotional. Some are frustrating. And some require humor, snacks, a little grace, and possibly putting an innocent phone charger on probation.
If something here made you feel seen, made you laugh, taught you something, or reminded you that someone else understands this complicated chronic-illness life, please like, subscribe, share, or pass it along to someone who may need it.
Every conversation helps make invisible illnesses a little more visibleāand reminds someone out there that they arenāt navigating this alone.
Until the next entry, Iāll be hereāliving, learning, advocating, laughing when I can, and continuing to navigate life with two very opinionated roommates who still refuse to follow the lease agreement.
š
Founder ā¢ Author ā¢ Advocate ā¢ Future Wellness Coach
Kia Lorice
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries š
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