I've had Fibromyalgia for seven years, been in remission from CFS/ME for five years and had that Fibro beast managed for about three years, give or take depending on the week. So what the hell is wrong with me? Why did I decide to challenge Fibromyalgia? How come I didn't take my own word for it, that this illness is pretty much as awful as it comes? What did I think was gonna happen if I answered the unsatisfied call deep in my soul to live a normal life? Had Samantha Stevens twinkled her little Bewitched nose, my fairy godmother waved her magic wand or the trailing wishes of a shooting star just come true? Did I honestly believe if I prayed hard enough or thought positive enough or acted healthy enough, I actually would be? Humph.
Whatever madness my brain existed in these last few months, something was radiating out of me. A need buried down inside that's never really gone away no matter how hard I try to convince myself I have accepted my fate. I was angry, miserable, desperate and sorrowful. Mourning such a deep loss, the loss of life as a healthy person. This mental relapse, refusal to accept my health problems, seemed to come from nowhere, rising up like Moby Dick in the night. Blindsided, I set out to challenge the very core of my existence by proving to myself if I kept a clean house and exercised regularly and put on makeup everyday, actually leaving the house to exist in the land of the living, I could stand to live this life forever. As long as I could do just those things, keeping to an active schedule of my own devise, I could. I have done this to me many times before, but this time my body kept responding so I kept pushing. Knowing the inevitable did little to soothe my stirrings of discord or curb this irresponsible behavior. I think I actually believed it was over and I was just babying myself.
And then Mother's Day came, the same day my body finally got fed up with my delusional mind. I woke up hurt and sore, puffy and crying. Putting one foot in front of the other was way more than I could do. In the back of my mind I knew it was over, my mad dash to the healthy line. I could hear a grateful murmurer of finally reverberating around my mind, my body oh so grateful and relieved. Now I set about putting not only me, but my quickly imploding life back together too. Like most trauma in life acceptance is relative. Working really hard to get to the other side is critical, however I find my ability to peacefully coexist with Fibromyalgia comes in waves. I will get there, for a while. Then I am not. Push to the crash, and I will get myself there once again. So now I sit here waiting to see how long it is going to take all the king's horses and all the king's men to put Humpty-me back together again.
Thanks for joining,