Fibromyalgia & Suicide

fibromyalgia-its-symptoms-and-causes

Add 10% higher risk of suicide.


I read a post on The Mighty¬†yesterday that really disturbed me. The topic was about how fibromyalgia and mental illness coincide, which I’ve already been aware of due to my own personal experiences.

But the part of the article that bothered me the most was the statement that “Fibro sufferers commit suicide at a rate of 10 times that of the general population, according to a report in Psychology Today.”

Just fucking wonderful.

It upset me so much, I got the shivers after I read it and then shared the link on Facebook, which only a handful of people reacted to, since it’s a taboo topic that is mostly avoided.

I told my boyfriend (he’s fully aware of my mental health history) and I asked him to read the post himself. As usual, the scary “S” word makes people uncomfortable. It happens every single time.

Even my beautiful mother, who always fought for and fully supported me while she was still alive, hated to say the word itself.

It’s not a pleasant topic, is it? No, it most certainty is not. Yet every 40 seconds, someone on this planet decides to end their pain and leave this brutal, yet wonderful world behind. It’s the truth and it’s happening. There’s an excellent chance that each one of us will be touched by it in one way or another.

Steven hadn’t really said much after he read it, so on the way to our Thursday evening couples bowling league, I asked him what his thoughts were.

“I don’t really know what to say,” he replied quietly.

Ah yes, ding ding.

“Yeah well, most people don’t,” I said knowingly, with a twist of snark in my comeback martini, on the defense.

Then I sighed, feeling quite defeated.

“It scares the fucking shit out of me,” I revealed, trying to honestly explain my feelings further. “It’s scary. Actually, it’s fucking terrifying. And I’m so afraid that it’ll happen again. I’ll live with that fear for the rest of my life.”

I noticed him squeezing the steering wheel a bit more tightly than normal.

“I might not understand it, but I’ll never run away with my tale between my legs.”

I made the noise I make when someone mentions asshat, a sort of disgusted snort.

“It didn’t help that you had someone constantly putting you down and abusing you, treating you like a worthless cripple and saying that maybe you should’ve just done it, after all! The fucking dirt bag.”

Another snort from me.

“I won’t let anything like that happen to you, not on my watch. I’ll do everything in my power, honey.”

I smiled and patted his leg, then left it there. He took his hand and started stroking my hair. We didn’t talk for a few minutes. I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his strong fingers comforting me and listened to the windshield wipers whisking away the chilly rain.

“I want you to be able to talk to me about it, to tell me when you start feeling like that,” he said. “That way, we can get you some help.”

I nodded and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for rubbing my head, that felt nice.”

“Anytime, my love.”


As most of you already know, my soon to be ex-husband (hooray!) decided to stick his dick in the mashed potatoes instead of coming to the ER to be with me on that shitty July day in 2015 when I tried to overdose on my pain pills.

My mother was the only one there and she was already beginning to show symptoms of her “mystery” illness. Now we know what it was that took her from us, an extremely rare medical condition. (A little too late, but that’s for another post.)

My boyfriend hates to discuss asshat and I don’t blame him, but I felt from the beginning that he needed to know my prior background in order to help him understand me better. We’ve been together for over a year now and the last thing I want is for him to someday exclaim “I didn’t sign up for this bullshit!”

And now that my precious mother has passed on, I hope that if I ever lose my battle with my suicidal thoughts again, I’ll have Steven to love and support me.

If I really have a 10% higher risk of suicide because I have fibromyalgia, then I better start praying hard and hope that I have a few compassionate people in my life, beginning with the man who plays with my hair.

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The Sign

Each day this week, I’ll be posting a song that explains my current mindset (although it rapidly changes because I’m a bit kooky like that.)

But this particular song always rings true.

How can a person like you bring me joy?


The Sign  Ace of Bass 1993

(I was 18 when this song was popular.)

I, I got a new life, you would hardly recognize me, I’m so glad
How can a person like me care for you?
I, why do I bother, when you’re not the one for me?
Oo-hoo-hoo-oo-oo
Is enough enough?
I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign
Life is demanding without understanding
I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign
No one’s gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong
But where do you belong?
I, under the pale moon, for so many years I wondered who you are
How could a person like you bring me joy?
Under the pale moon, where I see a lot of stars
Oo-hoo-hoo-oo-oo
Is enough enough?
I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign
Life is demanding without understanding
I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign
No one’s gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong
But where do you belong?
Oh, oh-oh-oh
I saw the sign and it opened up my mind
And I am happy now living without you
I’ve left you Oh, oh-oh-oh
I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign
No one’s gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong
I saw the sign
(I saw the sign, I saw the sign)
(I saw the sign, I saw the sign)
I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes
I saw the sign

Pulling the Wool

Nobody believed at first that asshat was cheating on me due to the fact that he weighed over 400 pounds. (I assume that he still does.)

It completely dumbfounded my family, especially my mother. She really loved him and when the shit hit the fan, she took it personally.

Love can turn to hatred in a nanosecond.

love-hate_2

He had pulled the wool over her eyes and that was unacceptable. Just like me, he is now dead to her and that’s that. I wasn’t the only one who was so bitterly betrayed.

But back to his weight and the fact that people were like…what the fuck? Who would want that fat ass?

Well, as it turned out, there was a vast supply of females who wanted a piece of that jelly roll.

(I can talk like this because I have always been on the heavier side myself.)

Back in 2015, when I was going through a severe mental health crisis, I had a feeling deep down that he was cheating on me, but when I vocalized my suspicions, my mom nixed the idea straightaway. (See above for why.)

I let the idea go. It was easier for me at the time to dismiss my gut instincts and blame myself for just being sick in the head and paranoid.

Appearance has nothing to do with it. If someone is able to cast a web of bullshit, they can catch a turd easily enough.

Don’t ever doubt your gut.