Invisible

( Normal Bodies - Series)

“Do you want to join us for dinner?”

There is a complicated set of math that goes into answering that question. The basics are how much is going to go from my pocket. The reality is eating outside costs, not to mention I am a college student, not broke but close enough. The second, do I care for the people enough to plaster on a barely passable smile and indulge in dull conversation that I most of the time do not understand at all or care for. The third and the most important, what is this going to cost me, not monetarily, but physically, mentally. 

Let me give you a little context on the last question. I have Achalasia Cardia, a rare disorder which is defined as a degeneration of the nerves in the oesophagus (food pipe, the tube that transports food from your mouth to your stomach for fools who have forgotten their 6th grade biology lessons), due to which liquids/solids are incredibly painful to swallow, that is on semi good days, on bad days it feels like my food pipe is locked and food is for the privileged. For people who think I can sustain myself on liquids, wrong. I wish I had one of those obnoxious buzzers for wrong answer with me right now but no matter you can just imagine it. Even water is for the privileged. When I say my throat is locked, it is barricaded, closed shut, welded, nothing is going in, not even a sip of water, the only way is out. 

So back to the beginning of my complicated maths question. Did I want to join them.

“Where do you guys want to go?” I throw out while shuffling a few pages. Semi interest is the way to go, you need to show semi interest by that even when you let them down they don’t feel all that bad. 

They chatter on for a while before they throw a cafe’s name back at me. Turning around I begin to slowly pack my bag, drag out the process giving my mind time to do this calculation. 

It was far, a kilometre or two (I feel the need to justify myself over here, a km or two wasn’t all that far but to an exhaustion addled mind and sensitive body it was a whole kilometre or two’s energy and calories that the body did not possess to expend). With us we would most probably walk. I had a large amount of things to carry, the perpetual fate of an art student I have resigned myself to. It was already 7pm, if we went out now we wouldn’t be done till half past nine, if I was lucky I would be back home by 10 at the latest, again if I was lucky. Not to mention I had class at 9am tomorrow. Did I mention I had a lot to carry. I stress this because this is my main quantifiable factor that could change the entire equation. I needed less burden, less things that can exhaust me even on small excursions. If I have something heavy on me, it subtracts from the total amount of energy I know I can expend without falling on the side of the road. 

Taking a sip of water, I tested if I could still swallow. I was able to but I didn’t trust my body all that much and most of all I had forgotten my large two litre water bottle. I could not eat without water, even trying would only result in more pain and embarrassment. That could be easily rectifiable, I could just pick up a two litre water bottle in the closest convenience store. 

I was on my last antacid (note to self: need to pick up antacid on the way back home). My back wasn’t aching, if my back was aching it was a sign that I wouldn’t be able to get off my bed the next day, I would be woozy, my joints would hurt, my head would spin and everything would rest in a red haze. I was able to eat my lunch relatively painlessly, I was able to find a small nook somewhere deep in the school ground to not deal with questions and sympathetic gazes. If I was able to eat lunch I should be able to eat dinner as well (being very fucking optimistic and greedy here, I know I shouldn’t be greedy hoping for two relatively painless meals but what can I say). My disorder could pass as a bad day or some other disease (you wouldn’t believe how often this happens already) which was NOT Achalasia. 

I was not against telling people that I have a disorder, I just didn’t want to. Things change you know, the way they see you, the way they see you in the world changes. I know the way I see myself and the world had fundamentally changed a year and half ago when I was diagnosed and a year before that when I was already in the worst of the disorder, before I had learnt to manage it. 

The chances of me getting chest pain/heart burn which feels like my whole world is on fire/my chest is being scraped out by witches to sacrifice me to the goddesses, were low because I followed my regime of taking small sips of honey whenever I could. I chewed on snacks whenever I could. I hydrated and drank a lot of coconut water (a lot is highly subjective over here, please do bear that in mind). I took all the precautions I have grown to understand. But even then that pesky bug that prances in whenever it wants can still happen. But I needed to believe it wouldn’t happen and not jinx it. This was the one thing I was absolutely, whole heartedly, with all the living things in me, terrified of. I should be fine (note: I don’t , even for a fucking second, actually believe that, I just didn’t want to jinx myself).

I should be fine.

But…

Quick check of self, how exhausted was I feeling right at this moment. The simple answer was, I was very bloody exhausted. 

Another quick check of self, did I have the mental capacity to tolerate mundane complaints when I had to deal with pain every single day and the prejudices that came with it. Yeah no thank you. I know how narcissistic it makes me sound but honestly if a person is dying of cancer I think you should not lord your ‘the cafe spelled my name wrong’ shit over them.

Another quick check of self, actually there is nothing, this is just an elaborate way for me to say no I do not want to go and be vulnerable in front of these people that I have grown to call friends. Hell, the gritty part of me that handles the day to day struggle of an invisible disorder is something I wouldn’t even want to show my partner, if I ever have one. I am just not that vulnerable and whatever. 

“Hey guys, sorry I need a raincheck on that invitation. I have a prior engagement.” They gave me soft, understanding, chirpy smiles. I wonder if my cordial polite smile was convincing/blank enough. I have said many bald faced lies like this, it wasn’t all that new. I knew I was a very good liar, I had become one with immense practice. 

They didn’t know I had Achalasia, maybe they thought I was an arrogant piece of crap who ran away to some fancy place every afternoon for lunch or maybe they thought that I thought I was too high and mighty to sit with them to eat. I didn’t care. 

Actually that is a lie. I cared, deeply, truly, painfully so, but I didn’t want to face the prejudice, the sympathetic gazes or the funny banter or the awkward silence when I would inevitably rush off to the washroom to vomit up the little bit of food I was able to shove down my throat. I told myself I didn’t care because it was easier, less painful. I didn’t care. I do not care.