You Don’t HAVE to Feel Alone

CIRS has stolen the past few years from my life, putting me through more of the school and emotional pain than I'd ever imagined possible. Almost costing me my life, and requiring me to place my plans for college and the future on hold.

But, despite all the procedures, appointments, suffering, supplements, diet, etc. The most difficult aspect of being chronically ill at such a young age, especially in college, has been the lack of support from my friends, peers, and the people around me.

Sitting alone day after day, wondering why most of my friends didn't text or check in. The friends from childhood and high school, who I didn't talk to as often, but had always promised to "have my back”; during tough times, were nowhere to be found.

Spending night after night alone and sick in bed, while my friends were out drinking almost 5 nights a week, “making college memories”; and not understanding why I was denied the good health all other 20-year-olds around me got to enjoy, despite doing everything in my power to be healthy.

Seeing the pictures of my friend group at games, parties, and dinners. Even though I should've been there, I wasn't at any of the events or in any of the pictures because I was so unwell. My empty space in the photos was an open wound; I’d often cry while scrolling through Instagram, feeling left out and forgotten, wondering when things would change, when I’d get better, and when I’d be allowed to do all the things I so desperately wanted.

As my Illness progressed over the last two years, my friends disappeared. My need for support increased, but the amount I received was subsequently decreased. Instead of offering to do things I could participate in, my friend group simply stopped including me in plans. Despite knowing I was too sick to participate anyway, the conscious choice to stop inviting me felt like the worst type of targeted abandonment, on top of everything else I believed I’d already lost.

As I slowly gained back my health and strength, it freed me to begin processing the way others had treated me the whole time I was unwell. When I was so sick and in so much pain, I couldn't use any mental energy. I was completely consumed with the physical, desperately trying every second of every day to simply make it through the day. At first, I questioned myself, wondering if I deserved the lack of support because I was so tied up in my own situation that I wasn't able to be a “good friend.” The lack of support kept on, and as I finally began feeling healthy enough to participate in my life again, in those moments, I wanted nothing more than to make up for all the times I missed out on. Yet still, my friends never invited me. Despite going through so much to begin regaining a sense of health and normalcy, it felt as though that was the same position I’d been in when I was at my lowest: sitting on the sidelines and watching everybody else live life. 

I grappled with the same thoughts that I still struggle with to this day; if my friends truly cared about me, they would've reached out. If they truly missed me, they would've called. If they had felt like something was missing from the group because I wasn't there, they would've made an effort to include me. None of these were done. So where does that leave me?

I was left feeling hurt and shocked by a deeper absence of empathy than anticipated. I've read that one reason many people are grateful for their illness is that it's shown them who their true friends are. But what do you do when your illness proves you have almost no true friends?

This reality is something I'm attempting to reconcile as I move forward. Until my illness, I was content with my friendships. I hope I'm never so sick again that my friendships are never again tested that way, but I still don't know if I'll know whether future friendships are true or superficial. I'm still struggling to come to terms with the fact that this disease has cost me most of my friendships. I’m still struggling to overcome some of the hurtful comments said to me. I'm still struggling to accept that when I was deathly ill and close to losing my life, almost no one was there for me.

Through this, I've learned that people, especially at a young age, don't like or don't know how to talk about illness. Most seem to find these conversations uncomfortable, or scary, and it remains poorly misunderstood by the public. The lack of support I received has not just come from my friends but more importantly, from doctors, the healthcare system, and universities.

I think it's hard for anyone to know how to respond in this situation, and I still believe that even though I've been let down, those people still care about me. I honestly don't know how I would have responded had one of my friends been in my shoes.

This has allowed me to tap into my deep reserves of self-reliance and strength that I didn't even know I had. Once I got over the shocking reality of my friend's inability to be there for me, I've mostly been able to make it through by relying on myself.