When I push my body to the limit, it repays me with pain and exhaustion. I’ve accepted this fact as a part of my reality. I’ve also accepted that others will not quite grasp the realness of my disease due to the fact that I look healthy on the outside.
I have to know when to stop and take a rest. It’s my body, after all. I’m the only one living inside this skin of mine.
I don’t want to alarm you guys, but my anxiety and depression is making a comeback. I’m still an extremely damaged person, even though I do my best to control it.
Hugging my mom is like hugging a living skeleton.
Change isn’t a simple process. I’ve removed toxic people from my life. I’ve changed my mindset and have come to finally realize that I deserve to be treated with respect and kindness (we all do). I deserve to get back what I give to others. If people cannot do this, they have to go. It doesn’t matter how long that I’ve known somebody.
Time means jack shit, one month or 28 years, it makes no fucking difference.
I read yesterday that the majority of people who have fibromyalgia are also empaths. This makes a whole shit ton of sense to me. I mean, where else would the negative emotions go if you don’t know how to rid yourself of them? They get absorbed into our flesh and bones, manifesting into a lifetime of chronic misery.
I feel like hiding today, away from the world. I want to wallow in my own melancholy stew, flavored with a seasoning packet of woe is me.