Thursday, March 15, 2012

Traumas and Fibromaylgia; a personal account

I am often asked to share my "story" with others whom I meet who also have Fibromyalgia or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  I am happy to do this, as I have found great comfort, solidarity, and compassion when others offer to share their story with me.  My blog tends to be more situational, and philosophically based.  However, I would like to try to introduce how my world was turned upside down by these illnesses, so as to be able to understand why I am where I am at this time.

I first began symptoms when I was 24 and living in VT with my boyfriend (ultimately my husband).  I was working 2 jobs, taking dance classes, and performing in theater.  I was aware of the importance of exercise and eating "right" in terms of keeping thin but not so much in terms of living a healthy lifestyle.  I was young and like most at that age, felt invincible. 

However, I did notice that I needed a lot more sleep than most, especially towards the winter and spring of 1994.  My primary job was extremely stressful and I worked under a boss who seemed impossible to please.  I was walking on eggshells and had not matured enough to speak up for myself and set boundaries.  Oh, no.  That came much later.  So, I was often pretty miserable at work but forced a smile on my face and worked my butt off to try to please those I was working for.  Not an easy task.

My second job, was working part time at a mall in customer service.  I loved this job.  I loved interacting with people and the more relaxed atmosphere that it provided.  I made good friends with a couple of stand up guys who worked the security there.  I was certainly tired working so much, but most everyone I knew at that time was working 2 jobs, so it didn't seem to be out of the norm.

One horrific night, 2 days before Christmas, I was working at the mall.  I was happy because I was looking forward to going home to NH to celebrate Christmas with my family and have some time off.  My boyfriend, Todd, had left that day to go home to see his family and we would meet up later in the week.  I went to work with homemade fudge for my friends the security guards and was full of Christmas cheer.   I was buying dinner for the 3 of us (I should mention that I worked alone in my shifts) to be delivered much to their surprise and appreciation.  They came by and we joked and chatted it up before they had to go do their rounds throughout the rest of the mall. 

Customer Service at that time was in a room.  There were glass doors leading into the room, and a large counter behind which I worked.  The doors leading into Customer Service were also the only doors leading out of Customer Service.  Behind me were floor to ceiling glass windows. 

My job entailed wrapping gifts for people, assisting them in finding their way into the mall, suggesting stores for certain items, and at this time of year, selling First Night Buttons.  The First Night Buttons were selling like mad and everyone coming in was exhausted, cheerful and excited about the upcoming holidays.

After my buddies left to go do their rounds, a young guy came in and inquired about the first night buttons.  He wanted to know if I had been selling a lot of them.  I smiled and told him yes, I had and would he like to purchase one. 

Whenever I go into my brain to remember this, it all is all in slow motion terror.  He took out a gun and began to threaten me and curse me.  He wanted all the money and he wanted it now.  He kept snarling at me to not look at him and if I did look at him he would kill me.  He said that a lot.  I got a good look at him, all the same, which seems miraculous to me now.  I gave him the money and he ordered me to get down on the floor all the while aiming his gun at me. 

The next thing I remember was reaching for the walkie talkie (my only means to alert my security guards).  Then I remember them coming in and calling for me and ultimately finding me on the floor in a fetal position and the sounds coming from my throat sounded distant and scary. 

Needless to say those security guards (their names have sadly escaped me after all this time) felt horrible and looked like they, too, were going to cry.  One of them gave me his coat to put on, as I guess I was shivering.  

At some point, the police arrived and just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did.  They had a lead from an informant at the mall that this guy was at a local club.  I was brought to the police station and had to change my clothes, put on a baseball hat, leather jacket and go undercover into this club and point out the guy who had done this to me.

I couldn't do it.  I mean, I went.  I actually went into this club with another female officer, but the light show and the music and everything made my already nauseous stomach lurch even more.  There were so many guys.  My mind was spinning and ultimately, I could not make the guy. 

After that, I was unable to go to my apt and sleep alone.  I mean, this guy knew what I looked like.  He even knew my name.  I was terrified, paranoid and unable to barely make a sentence.  I was brought to a friends' house and spent the night there where I kept the light on the whole time and read all night. 



I know this is one of the many traumas that has welcomed Fibromyalgia into my body.  Others include car accidents, and still others I am not ready to write about. 

One trauma at a time, they all built up walls inside of me until a house was  made for my Fibromyalgia to live in. 

And one at a time, I am breaking those walls down.  One trauma at a time.  One wall at a time.

The pain is real.  The symptoms exist.  But, so do my determination and my belief in a better life. 

There's got to be a way out.  I will keep bashing those walls down until someday I will find a window.  That window will be my way out.

Someday.