After a long and tearful conversation with Barry this morning, we’ve decided I can’t hold out any longer. He’s getting more and more frustrated with my refusal to seek medical care because it’s really hard for him to watch me experience all of this, which is understandable. I wouldn’t like to see him going through something like this. It is hard to describe what I’m feeling right now. To know that I’m giving in and admitting that I can’t manage this beast any longer is healthy in a sense, but there’s a piece of me that is terrified by this realization.
I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m not in control of it — or maybe I’m having to finally accept the fact that I never really was. My way of dealing with it before was ignoring it as best as I could. That was my coping mechanism: to ignore it, and to ignore my own needs. I always knew there would come a point where I would need something more than a high tolerance for pain to get me through the rough days, but I never though that day would come so soon. I’ve never even hardly paid attention to the issues I face with Fibromyalgia — on my blog I’ve only mentioned it about 3-4 times until this year.
I keep shaking my head and thinking, “I’m only 28…” I’m terrified on so many levels and for so many reasons. I’m freaking out because my body is fighting against me. I’m at war with myself and it’s a multifaceted struggle. I’m fighting physically. And I’m worn out. I’m fighting mentally. And I’m exhausted. I’m fighting spiritually. And I’m unsettled. I’m fighting emotionally. And I’m drained. I just want as much peace in my body as I have in my heart. My state of being is thrown completely out of alignment by this illness.
I don’t ever recall a time when I was comfortable. My husband has a hard time wrapping his mind around me never having one moment of pain-free-ness without always expressing it or complaining about it (when he’s in pain he always makes sure we know lol). For me, it’s like someone who was born without fingers or without being able to see. They may wish they had fingers or sight, but they don’t know any different — they’d like to know what it’s like to see or utilize their digits, but it’s not that big of a deal because they’ve never known what’s it’s like to live otherwise… so even though it sucks to not have fingers or vision, it’s not earth-shattering because you don’t lose more of your fingers or get any blind-er. It just is what it is, day to day.
With me, for a while it was that way — I didn’t know what it was like to not be in pain so I just handled it and went on with my life because it was all I’d ever known. Pain. However, the thing that makes this different is, it is starting to get worse by the day. I used to hide all of my symptoms from everyone — even my husband. When I tell him that I’m hurting, he will make me rest… “Why are you sweeping? Sit down. Why are you ________? Go lay down.” And I probably need that, but to give up and let it control my functionality in daily life… well I just can’t. The notion of doing that does something to me mentally and makes me feel like I’m losing the fight. So I hide it and refuse to let it change my routine.