Last week I found myself in the worst flare of my life. After a month of mounting stress, marital grumblings, and the sheer psychosis of living chronically ill I hit bottom. Bottom when you have Fibromyalgia really hurts. So I proceeded to walk around stooped over like a little old lady holding my lower back, wailing and crying and gnashing my teeth over how absolutely awful everything was. Then the anger I try so hard to keep tucked tightly under cover flew up and gave me waves of new aggressors to aggravate my rapidly crumbling illusion of reality.
Oh, I was a mess. And Fibromyalgia saw this weakness and POUNCED, took her claim back over my body. Elephants ballet danced with thunderous weight across my upper back, the pain from my lower back radiated all the way down my legs, into my feet for crying out loud! My hips forgot they were made to swivel and when I walked my body weight threatened to crush my internal organs. It was as if somebody pushed the rewind button and took me back to 2006 when I was disabled from Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/ME. No wonder I was such a mess, I thought to myself. This is horrible! I became convinced I was never going to run again and immediately crumpled into a Jello-ing heap at the thought of gaining back the 30 lbs. I just found out I have lost this year. How was I going to write a blog with a positive spin on how to survive Fibromyalgia? How was I going to write the book I am working on to raise awareness? How on earth could I keep the burning embers of The Fibromyalgia Crusade stoked and roasting? How, how, how? For there was just so much pain.
The life I know and have been working so hard to rebuild ceased to be a reality as the evil fingers of cranial destruction pushed on damaged neurotransmitters and overactive pain receptors. I experienced agony beyond a medicate-able amount, sending me not only through the roof but darn near jumping off it when I got there. Am I going to get my life back, or is this just the way it is now? I seriously wondered. Then I recalled with acute clarity the first time I asked myself that question and how many years and how much work lay between then and now. I am just not up to it, I can’t do it again, I reassured myself as I slept and watched mindless reality television, looking for any escape. But something strange happened as I took leave of my stress and took care of myself. I started to feel better. Slowly but surely I started to feel better until one day I woke up and had to remember the flare, for it had passed. But I have renewed in my efforts folks, shouting from the rooftops as loud as my little lungs will carry how absolutely horrible Fibromyalgia is and how living in that unbearable pain is perhaps the worst thing in the world. God bless all of us who suffer from this illness.
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