Chronic Pain and Hidden Illness

The Lies We Believe

Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end after grad school. There was still that lovely three‑month gap — the one Congress, for reasons beyond understanding, has yet to outlaw. Some of my medications were unaffordable without insurance, so I tried once again to go unmedicated. Not because I didn’t need the medication, but because in America we’ve built this toxic ideology that needing medication at any age is somehow a personal failure. If you need help, you must be lazy. If you’re sick, you must have caused it. As if anyone can “hard‑work” their way out of hereditary conditions.

People don’t even realize they’re reinforcing these stereotypes. You hear it from doctors when you finally get an appointment and they dismiss you with, “You’re too young to be this tired,” or “Well, you look healthy.” Wonderful — I look healthy. I don’t care how I look. If anything, looking healthy has been the barrier to actually getting help instead of white‑knuckling my way through life.

Then there are the comments from family: “Wow, you take a lot of medication for someone your age,” or “I got off my medication by doing X,” or “My friend cured her thyroid with homeopathy.” And layered on top of that was religion — yes, religion. When Christianity frames misfortune as a reflection of your spiritual closeness to God, chronic illness becomes a moral failing. If you look healthy, they don’t believe you. If you don’t get better, they assume you caused it. Apparently, I just needed more bootstraps.

Back to the story. I started my first job and finally had health insurance again. I went to the doctor, explained my medical history, and instead of receiving the medication I already knew I needed, I was told that losing weight would “cure” me. Never mind that I’d had these issues my entire life, long before I struggled with weight. That appointment marked the beginning of a multi‑year journey to get back on medications I had already been prescribed — medications that would eventually be the key to stabilizing my health. It’s almost like I was the expert on my own body and my doctor should have listened.

I moved back to central Indiana and got a new doctor, who of course made me repeat all the same tests. I was given a CPAP machine, which did almost nothing for my sleep or my exhaustion. Only after that failed was I finally allowed to see the specialist I had been asking for from the beginning — a neurologist who focused on sleep medicine. He put me back on the medication that kept me from calling people every time I drove somewhere, terrified I’d fall asleep behind the wheel. It wasn’t perfect, especially on longer drives, but it was better. I was desperate for better.

What the research says

While I’ve been fortunate not to struggle with suicidal thoughts myself, it’s important to acknowledge that many people living with chronic illness do face increased emotional distress. Research shows that people dealing with chronic pain are at higher risk for serious mental health challenges, including suicidal ideation. So why are doctors still dismissing their patients? Why are people who are already carrying so much being forced to fight to be believed? The system’s refusal to take chronic symptoms seriously doesn’t just delay treatment — it compounds suffering. It leaves people isolated, invalidated, and exhausted by a healthcare structure that should be supporting them instead of questioning their reality.

It took years to find answers.

Years later, after moving from Pendleton to Indianapolis, I switched doctors again. I was still exhausted, but now I also couldn’t lose weight. I was gaining weight despite working out an hour a day, five days a week, and eating C1,000 calories. And still — gaining. It turned out there was a simple blood test that none of the hundred doctors I’d seen had ever thought to run: a thyroid antibody test.

I already knew I had hypothyroidism, and I assumed my levels were off. They were — slightly. But the real problem was the antibody count. Mine was over 300. Normal is under 40. My body wasn’t just struggling; it was attacking my thyroid. Not one specialist had considered anything autoimmune unless it was lupus or RA.

I learned all of this at 32 years old. For decades, my joint pain, fatigue, weight issues, and muscle pain were brushed off as psychological. There was “no way” I could still be tired if I was on a medication that kept “normal people” awake all night. Good for them.

This diagnosis didn’t magically fix everything, but it finally gave me something I had been denied for most of my life: proof. Proof that it wasn’t in my head. Proof that I wasn’t doing it for attention. Proof that what I was experiencing was real. And when I finally saw those numbers, I wept with relief.

Suicide and Chronic Illness | Psychology Today