The Girl Who Cries Illness

In terror the Boy ran toward the village shouting “Wolf! Wolf!” But though the Villagers heard the cry, they did not run to help him as they had before. “He cannot fool us again,” they said.The Wolf killed a great many of the Boy’s sheep and then slipped away into the forest.

http://read.gov/aesop/043.html

The boy who cries wolf is a century-old wise tale. It is about a boy who constantly makes his village come to his recuse when he cries wolf. However, each time he is making it up to get their attention. It’s all fun and games until a real wolf does show up and when the boy calls for help everyone ignores him because they figure he is just faking again.

As a child, I understood the moral of the story: no one will listen to a lier even if they tell the truth. Yet, as an adult, I often find myself drawn back to this imagery of someone who constantly seeks attention of others but is ignored. Imagine the tale from the boy‘s perspective. Maybe he thought he heard something and was being cautious in case a wolf did care. Or maybe he had a lot of anxiety and needed the confirmation that everything would be okay.

Lately, I find myself connecting more and more to this fable: I feel as though I am the girl who cries illness. In the past 2 weeks I have been the the doctors for a fire ant bite, the ER for stomach issues, and the doctors again for an ER follow up. And now tonight, I have a new rash under my skin that I am assuming will need to be checked out tomorrow.

As much as I love my support system and know that they do support me, sometimes I feel that my chronic suffering is a burden to them as much as it is to me. I’m that person that always has something going on medically and lately I cannot seem to catch a break. When I talk these new issues through with my family, they try to be supportive. However, I can seem how annoying my complaints are to them. My constant worrying and complaining never gives them a break. In their eyes I simply need to “stop worrying so much” or “focus on other things.”

What they do not realize is that as annoying as it is to them, it’s a thousand more times annoying to me. I hate having to deal with new ailments constantly. I hate that I have lived my life with so much pain and suffering. I hate that I had to grow up and mature faster than others my age. I hate the cards that I’ve been dealt…

And yet, there’s not too much that I can do to change these worries. As much as I wish I could, I can never control my body or stop my body from developing new ailments. I cannot turn to my anxiety disorder and tell it to “stop worrying.” All I can do is take it one day at a time. I can look at the good days and enjoy the light when it is the brightest.

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