Although the words don’t come as easily as they used to, I’m thrilled to finally be able to blog here again. My goal is at least one post per week. When I think back to how I would feel guilty for missing even one day, I lightly smack myself on the forehead for being so hard on myself. I had the mindset that in order to feel useful, I had to type up something, anything, just so I could take a nap and not feel like my entire day was a waste.
It’s still really difficult to take extended periods of time just to REST and do absolutely jack shit.
Which is something that’s required when you have fibromyalgia or any other chronic pain/fatigue condition. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told to just “take it easy” and “get some rest.”
That shit gets old really quick, but it’s a key element of eventually receiving a good day now and then. (In which case I get all excited like Jo Jo the Circus Monkey and I end up overdoing it. Then the cycle begins anew.)
I haven’t worked since June of 2012. If I’m doing the math correctly, that’s going on (carry the 4, um…) 7 years of not being gainfully employed. I had just turned 38 when I applied for disability. This August, I’ll be 45 years old.
Unless a miracle happens and they find a decent treatment or a cure for fibromyalgia…well, then I’d still have to face my mental health issues that continue to whip me around like a rag doll. I’ve also acquired within these last few years three new diseases such as the mega painful gout, osteoarthritis and diabetes.
The sense of shame has faded mostly, but I still become sad and dare I say a bit salty that I can’t even take a small part-time job in order to bring in some extra cash and to socialize with people that I don’t even like that much.
I’m in awe of people like my brother and sister-in-law (both freshly turned 40) who hold down demanding full-time jobs with seemingly little problems.
Then I remember when I was able to do that. I tell them often to hold on tightly to their health and to never take it for granted, like I did.
Having my boyfriend Steven, who is supportive and kind, has given me so much of my self-worth back.
Here’s a few photos of our adventures together.
He’s showing off his new 16 pound bowling ball. I just got myself a new 6 pound ball.
I’m not what asshat tried so desperately to convince me that I was; an needy, pitiful, inept invalid.
Steven doesn’t make me feel scared, like I should stay locked up in the house due to my shoddy health. He’s always encouraging me to experience life again and to find ways to modify my traveling to fit my limitations.
He’s made me feel more alive these last 9 months, in ways that I thought I never would again.
And on my really bad days, when I can’t do much more than lift my head, he’s right there to spend time with me and yes, to take care of me.
(Not on his phone sending dick pics to other women.)
See, I promised you guys that I would find a way to get a jib in at asshat and I didn’t fail.