I told someone so…

So, it’s come to this.

I am not sure if I’m happy or sad.  I’m not sure if I wasn’t careful enough about what I wished for.  And, I’m really not sure what I expected otherwise.

It’s an F-word.  But, not the four-letter one that invokes laughter or anger in the same moment.  It’s longer than that and it has more weight.  Fibromyalgia.

20 years I spent going from doctor to doctor because they all moved or retired to family life, or maybe got tired of seeing my file grow with every visit.  I insisted there was something going on, and they insisted I needed more water, less sugar and more sleep.  While I admit these are all things that help, I was looking for something more concrete.  An excuse or something to prove that it wasn’t all my fault.  And, there it is.  A twelve letter culmination of frustration and sleeplessness.  An answer to my prayers at 2am for some direction on how to feel better.  And yet, I feel… nothing.  Just a little “I KNEW there was something going on…”  Yet, is it really a diagnosis?

I think I’m mostly pissed with the fact that the things I’d finally started doing to make myself healthier are now no-no’s.  Well, for now, anyway.  I loved crossfit.  There’s something about being able to do a shit-ton of situps and still be able to do a shit-ton of squats and lift a 125lb bar over your head in the same hour workout.  But, there won’t be any going back.  Unless I get up the nerve and walk in for a hello.  And try not to be the sad, sob-story sitting on the couch watching instead of doing.

But, it’s supposedly not progressive, just always there with flare-ups when things are bad.  A positive, I suppose.  It’s crappy hearing that there should be NO WEIGHTS, and very light low/no-impact aerobic activity after finally being able to bust ass on a WOD.  Oh well.  I need to stop snivelling and put on my big-girl panties and move my ass at least, instead of sitting there on the couch eating like shit and getting bigger big-girl panties…

 

 

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