6/4/15

......

The day this really all began. The first day, of an uncountable amount of days. The day I started getting answers. The day the phrase "breathe Bek, breathe" became a normal part of my life.

The day normal officially became overrated.

The day I embarked on this mess of an adventure that now influences my every move.

On one hand it feels like the time has passed in the blink of an eye, and on the other, it feels like it's been an eternity. Like I've been sick forever.

Like it's already been a lifetime.

And just like that day two years ago, on my bad days, when it's all overwhelming, I still wonder how I'll keep doing it.

Two years ago, I thought that by now I would have it all figured out. That I would have it under control. That I would fully understand all of my triggers, and that with discipline and careful thought, that I would be able to prevent flares. Now I'm wondering if I'll even have it all figured out on the day I die.

Two years ago I spent an afternoon in bed researching my new life sentence. Crying.

Sure some of what I read was exaggerated, and some of what I read that I swore would never affect me, has.

Some of it wasn't quite the truth. But for the most part, it was.

........

Normal is so overrated. That's how I've always lived my life.

But some days, what I wouldn't give, to have just a week, or even a day of normal.

........

Moving away from people who knew, for the most part, what I was going through was weird. Coming to college where no one had a clue what my life was like, was even weirder.

Sure I planned to not tell anyone, but even though fibromyalgia doesn't completely define me as a person, it defines the majority of what I do with my life.

Staring blankly at people in the hallway, not knowing their story, and knowing that they too, had no clue about mine.

I didn't want the looks of pity, or the constant being checked on. I wanted my independence back. I wanted to be the girl that I used to be. I wanted to forget about it.

To just forget that it had ever even happened.

........

It's hard to hide.

It's hard to hide it from the people I spend my days with.

But it's hard to hide from.

I can run in the opposite direction. I can drink chocolate milk. I can eat pizza. I can try to live on 6 hours of sleep. I can try to go for runs. I can try to work 60 hour weeks.

Sometimes I can even convince myself that I'm doing fine.

Until out of nowhere, it hits.

.......

So many times I've been asked what the worst part of it is.

So many times I haven't had answers.

But, I guess it's the mourning. The mourning of the girl I used to be and of the girl I will never again be.

Now, don't read into that too deeply, I love where I am now, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

And normal's overrated, right? So why should I care?

.......

One day I'm fine.

The next.

I wake up and I can't move.

It hurts to breathe. I have a pounding headache. I'm nauseous. I'm dizzy. My fingers are swollen, and I can't even pick up a pen to sign my name. My knees are giving out. My ribs hurt. My back hurts. My everything hurts.

I knock myself down. It knocks me down.

The depression and anxiety that I swore would never get a grip on me, they do.

.......

I'm forever getting asked how I do it.

And while I'd like to be completely clear that I was never given a choice in this matter, if I'm being honest...

If the few people I really let in to my life are honest, they'd tell you that some nights, I don't.

......

Fibromyalgia isn't what you see on the commercials. It isn't the middle aged woman with the husband and kids walking happily down a dock. It isn't some magic pill that fixes everything.

Because if it was really that easy to fix, don't you think I would have already done it?

It's me laying on my bathroom floor after a shower because I don't have the energy to move. The tears that fall from my eyes. The tears that I hate. It's the days and nights I spend feeling absolutely broken and worthless because I can't seem to get everything to go right.

I don't get the happy ending, skipping across a dock with my family trailing behind. I don't get that magic pill.

I get the pain. The depression. The anxiety. The uncertainty.

........

Sure, maybe some day, far off in the future, I'll get it mostly figured out.

Maybe tomorrow I won't be as emotional about it all as I have been.

Maybe tomorrow someone will find a cure.

And yeah, in the end, everything will be okay.

I know that. Deep in my heart. But wrapped up in the moment, while in excruciating pain, that seems so far away, that it doesn't even seem tangible.

......

People have gone, just as I feared that they would.

People have doubted, just as I knew would happen.

People who should have understood, or at least listened, haven't.

.......

People suck, fibro or no fibro.

........

Fibro sucks. I'll never deny that.

The past two years seem like an eternity.

But, without that fateful day two years ago, I wouldn't be where I am today.

I wouldn't be at Northeast. I never would have walked into the doors at Earl May searching for a job.

I wouldn't have met all of the amazing people that have come to mean everything to me.

While I hate it, and wish I could just choose to be rid of it, it's made me who I am. And I've been a lot better about accepting that.

.......

We don't get any promises in life. Except that we won't make it out alive. That's the one for sure thing.

And if I've learned anything these past three months, its that sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind, yell "pura vida" at the top of your lungs, and keeping moving. Keep breathing. Keep living. Keep thriving.