This has to be one of the worst flares I've had. Maybe not. My memory doesn't seem to be cooperating with me very well lately. I haven't written in a long time due to the pain and fatigue. You know what? That's not even the real reason. Truthfully, I have been afraid to write. I'm very aware that everything I write is read by people. This can be a detriment to honesty. Then again, how much honesty are people ready for? How much am I ready to admit? I like to consider myself a patient, optimistic, determined person. Here's the thing, though. Lately, I don't feel like any of these things. I am trying. But, sometimes I don't feel like trying. I feel like all I can do is survive the day. And surviving a day or two is one thing. But when you begin to string days to weeks and weeks to months of surviving, life becomes just that; survival.
I am fed up. Anger has erupted in me like never before in these past several weeks. Sadness has overcome me in a very deep way. For a person who has often had trouble crying, tears have been drowning me. I feel alone, lost and (here comes the truth none of us want to hear) shrouded in hopelessness. My children need me. My husband is working in overdrive. My house is a mess. Christmas is fast approaching. Everything is spiraling out of control and I'm in too much pain and too exhausted to so anything about it. I want to make cookies, decorate and play with my children. I want to make my husband a nice meal for his birthday. I want to dust and do laundry like a normal person. Forgive me, but I do not think I am asking for too much. I just want more of a life than existing until bedtime when I crumble into the sheets and hope and pray for relief.
Of course I am grateful for a home, my healthy happy children, a wonderful husband and that I do not have a fatal illness. But, does that mean that I also am not allowed to want more? We Fibromyalgia folks are too often criticized for complaining, malingering, exaggerating, and being attention seekers.
The hell with it. I am complaining. I am angry and sad and feeling desperate. I'm exhausted. Like I have the flu 24/7 exhausted. Like walking to the kitchen and back and shaking from over exertion exhausted. I hurt. Pain like knives are being stabbed into my neck and back. The kind of pain that literally takes my breath away and leaves me nauseous.
This is what I wake up to and deal with day in and out. I pray for sleep to give me respite. This is the only escape I have. Some nights are not as kind as others.
So there. I threw up all over the page and onto you, my readers. I'm sorry. I'm sorry this is not an entry with some kind of positive message. I'm sorry I cannot be a role model today. I'm sorry I cannot inspire anyone.
Today I just can't. I'm just trying to get through the day. Again. Trying to muster up a little speck of hope for tomorrow.
This is real. My illness is real. My pain is real. This entry is real.
Honest and true.
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