Chronic and Mental Illness Can Feel Like a Prison

You should never give up hope of being paroled.

Looking out a window with bars covering it.Peter H/Pixabay

My cell may not have steel bars and locks, but it’s a prison just the same. My windows open to the world outside, but most of my view is out of reach.

I try to concentrate on putting positive into the world. Even on my best days, though, the restrictions I live with take their toll. Reflecting on the impact of illness inspired this piece. This is the story of my prison.

Confinement

Confinement is an obvious similarity. I have Familial Mediterranean Fever, an auto-inflammatory disease that creates excess inflammation in my limbs and around my vital organs. When the pain is the worst, I can’t leave the house. There’s no way to wear socks or even pants. Any pressure from clothing is too intense to handle.

I also have Bipolar Disorder 1 and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Mental illness creates a different type of confinement that makes me feel isolated and alone, even in a room full of people. It creates a wall between me and those who can never understand.

Yard Time

I love my time outside. I’m never happier than when I’m listening to the birds sing while I’m covered in dirt, sweat, and grass clippings.

My time in the yard is restricted. On bad days, there’s no getting out of bed, so outside might as well be as far away as the moon.

Even on better days, chronic illness enforces its restrictions. One of my medications makes me vulnerable to the sun. I have to be careful to stick to the shade as much as possible. Happily, tall trees shade most of my yard in summer, but this restriction is a constant consideration.

Visitors

There’s no glass wall between me and my guests, but the barrier is still there. Mental illness makes the imaginary glass clouded. I smile and laugh—I know how to play my role—but the visit is often just a blur, mostly forgotten when my guest leaves.

Visitors have to be pre-approved. With a compromised immune system, my doors are closed to anyone with any type of sickness. The anxiety often makes interactions overwhelming, so I choose guests carefully. We may not be in a room crowded with other inmates, but the noise in my head may still be too loud.

There are a few gems who understand. These caring friends stick by side at every turn. Inmates themselves, they know the ravages of illness firsthand, and they offer comfort even from hundreds of miles away. A simple text, “Thinking of you,” can give me the boost to make it through the day.

Day Passes

Under special circumstances, a warden may allow a prisoner to leave the prison. Others reach a point where they can work outside the jail. They are free during the day but have to return to their detention at night.

My day passes may come more often, but the same gray cloud hangs over them. Laughing with friends, enjoying a delectable meal in a restaurant, or watching a mesmerizing stage play, my illnesses are never far away. As much as I try to revel in every second, the reality of illness hovers close. A twinge of depression never leaves, for I know even the best moments will end too soon.

Hope of Parole

Every prisoner dreams of going free. Even those with a life sentence imagine a time when it’s possible for them to live outside the bars again.

Chances are slim that doctors will ever cure any of my illnesses, but still, I hang on to hope. I cling to positivity, gratitude, and love, knowing that even a life imprisoned is worth living. Every life is worth living.

Are you in a similar prison? Then know you’re not alone. This cellmate knows your struggle. I see the bars holding you here. Together, we can keep fighting until we’re free.

Until next time, keep fighting.