I hate complaining, but I’m going to right now. Bear with me. 

So I’ve been kind of down and out of it today. Not depressed, just a little bleh. So as I laid and finished yet another episode of Scrubs I decided to figure out what’s wrong. Introspection, a very useful tool in the craziness that is life. 

So here’s what’s up: I hurt. Every time I move I want to curl up in a ball and go to sleep. My body is a big being of pain and it’s depressing. It’s hard to have any real motivation to do anything. So I’m sitting on the couch, listening to music, trying to convince myself to do something. 

See the issue is that I, like all of the rest of us chronic illness afflicted people, hate talking about it. I’ve been conditioned, even by doctors, to not talk/think/express emotion about it. I’ve been to intensive programs that don’t let you talk about your issues. I understand the thought process, don’t talk about it – don’t obsess about it. However, it just makes me hide all of it inside of myself. I pretend, even to myself, that I don’t hurt all the time. It’s a coping method. It keeps me from obsessing or being depressed or what have you. But right now even typing this blog post makes my arms hurt, and that just sucks. Driving hurts, walking hurts, moving hurts. This is my life. This is a very real reality for me, and for many other people. So today I’m not going to brush it off or try to end with some uplifting positive “oh but it’s okay” because it’s not. There’s lots of awful things in this world, and in the grand scheme of things I’m lucky, but today I don’t feel it. Today I’m going to be mad at my body, because it sucks at being a body. Today fibromyalgia and bipolar disorder and mitral valve prolapse and premature ventricular contractions and central sensitization syndrome and orthostatic intolerance suck. So there! In your face sickness! I win this one. 

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