I haven’t been in here much. I’ve been trying to write, but I’ve just felt totally unable. Nothing tragic had happened. Nothing at all has happened. I’d like to use the old phrase that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Turns out though the flesh and spirit are both so tired that every little thing I used to love is now too much effort.
At the start of having fibromyalgia I felt so relieved. I had my answer. I wasn’t alone. I got proactive. I joined a support group. I talked to other sufferers. I felt hopeful.
But then I spent three days in so much pain I couldn’t think. There was no relief except sleep. It started happening more and more. Now having the reason was worse. It became a curse to know that there was nothing I could do to relieve the pain. That this would happen on and off for the rest of my life. I suffered a week long flare up. And then another one. All I could do was sleep, wake up for toilet breaks and water and then fall asleep again. My skin itched and burned. My bones aches. My muscles spasmed or cramped up. I was hit with migraine after migraine. And it won’t ever stop.
So all my energy has been siphoned from me. Mentally I’m struggling. I feel alone and isolated. I’m looking down the barrel of a lifetime of this and I just can’t even process that.
I can’t work. I can’t play with my kids. I can’t think straight. I can hardly remember who I am anymore.
So right now I don’t feel like writing. I feel like sleeping. Because when I’m dreaming I can do anything. And there is no pain.