I really have no idea how many folks read this blog or who they are. Several have identified themselves to me but, beyond them, I don't know. I don't promote it, I do post a link to it on social media but, I have no need to advertise or promote. I'm not selling anything. Just putting my story out there. The extra energy it would take to figure out how to further spread it is beyond my scope. So, if you know somebody you think my words may help, please do share. That's the reason I'm writing to begin with.
I had an epiphany about my life the other night at about 12:30. It was a day that I could only be out of my bed for about 4 hours due to severe symptoms. Here is what I realized:
I think all of my life up to the bisection (the onset of this disease on 3/12/05) was preparing me for the changes and adaptations of living with fibromyalgia.
I have never really lived "free". Of course, not in the sense of slavery, don't misunderstand. My childhood was blissful. Then, in my early adolescence, I worked. There were expectations of me that were sudden and different and I had to just figure it out as I went. I worked hard through my teen years and went to college, still working, and looking toward the horizon when I could be a bit more relaxed from all the work.
But, I was too naive and I married a controlling man who abused me. I absolutely accept my share, but only my share, of the relationship. I was controlled by him from the word go. This was '91-'97. No freedom. We're talking about the checking the odometer and walking on eggshells kind of control.
I managed, with my army of angels, to get away with my life and my body in one piece in November 1997. After that, I was friends with someone who had clear dreams of his own, and since I had none of my own, after all I had just escaped from prison, his entered me through osmosis or something. And, as time went on, he controlled me too. Some of this is because he sort of swooped in with his agenda before I could really get my feet on the ground to figure out what mine might be. In this sense, I was still controlled. I was not fully free. I lived with him in a roommate situation and didn't have my own car most of the time, pooled my money with him, and got the Spanish Inquisition if I wanted to date somebody. (Later, I realized that this is because he wanted me for himself and we did become engaged. Everyone makes mistakes.) I was not free to decide. When I broke it off, and then months later when I moved out, I actually moved to a weekly rate motel just to be physically free of him.
During this time, I had enrolled in my local college and was determined to finish my undergraduate degree. I also was in a self-defense class at the YMCA. (That class is where I met my sweetheart.)
I moved into my first apartment of my own in Aug. '04. So, I was tied to the concept of still working through school but, I was more free than I had ever been.
I moved on to a relationship which is the best of my life where control is not an issue. Not at all. However, I still wanted to finish school and was not where I wanted to be in my own accomplishments, I wanted to be more. I didn't feel free. I felt driven. I was still in school. Slogging through college as an adult is slow and arduous, especially while working.
The spring semester of '05 began and I was a full-time student, working part-time. Not free. Then fibromyalgia hit in March, on the 13th to be exact, and every single other day before then should have prepared me for how "not free" I'd be in my years to come.
My life is a dictatorship. My body, the dictator. If I rebel against the command, I pay a higher price for the disobedience. I get no say, no vote. No democracy here. I have sometimes been able to separate me, the inside Marie, from my body, the sick Marie. I look at her and just think "Damn-it. Again with the naps? Really? There's other fun stuff we could do today.... even if not fun, just not sleeping life away..." But, she absolutely is in control. It is required. She dictates it. So, again, I live under the control of another. Another person, another whatever, but not myself. Not Marie. If I think of dictators in history, it really is a good comparison. They are ruthless. They are just a little bit crazy and quite unpredictable. There seems to be some underlying strategy but, no one understands it. Check. Check. Check. Check. Also, they don't care if they kill you. Check. This is what it feels like. It does not feel like my body is protecting me. It feels like it has turned. I know it is not healthy to see it that way so, I won't indulge in these thoughts long, but, just wanted to share the epiphany. I am not free. And my whole life of being not free has at least prepared me for coping. Prepared me for asking for help. Prepared me for losing my independence. Again.
So, in the dictatorship that is my existence, I will now attempt to put my laundry away. It has taken me 4 days to get it washed, dried, out to the living room, folded, and into the closet. I need only now to put it where it belongs. I will likely be told when to stop rather than deciding on my own when to stop. But there is this. Hope that I will finish it before the commander screams. And then I can do my little accomplishment happy dance. And that, my friends, my beloved, is what I live for. Teeny, tiny accomplishments. Let's all enjoy our accomplishments today, however big or small they may be. And be thankful for the day.
Have happy happy days!!!
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