Chapter 1: The Weight of Guilt

Some days, I find myself longing to curl up in bed, wishing to escape the world. Yet, I often resist this urge due to an overwhelming sense of guilt that even a short nap can evoke. My husband has to insist that I take time to rest, and more often than not, I end up feeling rejuvenated afterward. Despite this, my stubbornness often gets the better of me.

I log into my email, where my latest blood test results await. Yesterday morning, I had called my doctor’s office to request these results, which, in Ireland, are sent directly to the physician. Patients receive their copies only upon request.

These blood tests were actually taken in March, though I had mistakenly thought they were from May. Fortunately, it doesn't matter much since my upcoming appointment with the doctor will likely involve new tests anyway. Still, I’m bringing these older results just in case she wants to review them.

I recall the nurse’s reassuring call when the results first came in; everything was fine, and there was no need for a follow-up appointment. I was told my results were excellent.

This is usually how it goes for me—my blood tests are consistently stellar. I’m often told that I’m a healthy young woman.

But should I be happy about this? It often feels like a painful contradiction. Although the results are great, I don’t feel healthy; I feel drained and weary.

I find myself wishing for a diagnosis, something tangible that could explain my fatigue. I want proof that my struggles are valid, that I’m not simply being lazy or imagining my symptoms.

I have ME (which I refuse to label as CFS due to its derogatory implications). This diagnosis was reached only after ruling out other conditions, rather than being identified through a specific test. My previous general practitioner was skeptical about it, but my new doctor seems to acknowledge it, even if there’s little that can be done.

ME is a genuine illness, yet it remains invisible in standard medical examinations. For nearly a decade, I’ve seen numerous doctors, and none have provided a solution.

This year, my symptoms have worsened. Is it due to the absence of pregnancy and breastfeeding hormones that once sustained me? Or am I simply struggling more now while raising two young children?

There’s no test to clarify these uncertainties. All I know is that I face daily challenges; my body feels weak, and my mind is often clouded. Even basic conversations can be exhausting.

Last night, I found myself in tears, overwhelmed by my condition. When my husband asked what was wrong, I blurted, “What if I’m just imagining this?”

These self-doubts are not new; they’ve haunted me since my illness began almost ten years ago. Expressing these feelings often upsets my husband, who has battled his own health issues for over two decades. While he is better now, he still copes with many ongoing symptoms, making my self-doubt particularly painful for him.

My husband has concrete medical evidence of his struggles, having tested positive for Lyme and Bartonella before clearing these infections. In contrast, I have received negative results from numerous tests—six Lyme tests alone over a couple of years, with no positive findings.

I have nothing—at least, nothing quantifiable by medical science.

At my lowest points, I revert to self-blame. I wonder if I’m somehow manifesting my symptoms as a reflection of my husband’s experiences. Could it be that I’m unconsciously mimicking his struggles to gain sympathy?

While not every chronic illness sufferer questions the legitimacy of their symptoms, I often do. My husband seems secure in his diagnosis, while I frequently doubt my own.

Recently, I spent hours researching Munchausen’s syndrome and other psychological conditions related to feigning illness. Is it possible that I could be subconsciously inducing my symptoms? (The answer, of course, is no.)

I grapple with guilt and responsibility regarding every aspect of my life, which likely fuels these thoughts. I yearn for a normal life, to be a productive member of my family, and to escape my daily battles.

This Thursday, I have an appointment at the Menopause Health Clinic, focused on women’s health and menopause. My hope is to discover if I am experiencing early perimenopause. Although I’m only thirty-five, there are signs that may indicate this stage. If confirmed, perhaps they can offer solutions to alleviate my symptoms.

While I don’t necessarily wish to be in perimenopause, I long for assistance—something that might provide me with the energy to handle everyday tasks and clear the mental fog enough to engage in meaningful conversations. I want to be the mother my daughters deserve.

I hold some hope, albeit limited. After all, my tests consistently yield negative results.

It would be wonderful if energy levels could be tested—I’m certain that would show as deficient. Yet, I’m uncertain how such validation would truly help me.

Chapter 2: The Value of Existence

In this official lyric video, Reneé Rapp and Megan Thee Stallion express themes of empowerment and self-acceptance, resonating with those who struggle with self-doubt and societal expectations.

The official music video features Reneé Rapp and Megan Thee Stallion, delivering a powerful message about resilience and embracing one’s truth, perfect for anyone navigating the complexities of chronic illness and guilt.