I will start this discussion with a question. That question is this.. How hard do you work, every single fucking day, just to keep a fake smile on your face? How hard is it when those closest to us hurt us on a fundamental level? I want to tear my own hair out. I have at times. As well as the whole beating myself in the sides of my face. I admit it. I did that. life spirals out of control and we want a normal life for our partners and our kids but DAMMIT, sometimes I am losing my shit.
Now.. I know what most of my triggers are. I know when to walk away. I know when to keep my mouth shut, even if I have to hold my lips together with my fingers (and I have done that as well)
By design fibro is destined to turn each of us into a control freak. We cannot help it. Our neurological systems are broken, all the way broken. We have to know what our triggers are, we have to stand up for ourselves. We have to be ready if we are going to fall because of a loud bang, or yell because someone thinks it funny to scare you..
We have to be on guard at all times. We even have to practice what the hell we tell people when we are acting like a fucking insane person; and that is almost the hardest part.
I am years in. I have had a lot of practice. The one thing I can tell you is that those closest to you do care, they are just tired of hearing you talk about it all the time. I know.. sacrilege that I said that. I know that. I also know that I am my own psychological study and the minute I stopped talking about what hurt that day, the minute that I stopped saying, “you think that hurts…” the minute I started to give them me.. just me, they responded.
Sure, in an ideal world our partners would ask a million times a day how you are. Once you stop talking about how you are, they actually start asking. In an ideal world we wouldn’t have this shit.. but we have it. Hold it, let it build you up.
Today, I am knocked on my ass. I am out of school not by choice and my world is pretty shattered. I cleaned my fibro pile of stuff and most of it was my school work. I want to hide in a closet and cry and cry because I have no idea what is next for me.
I would like to think that my husband would come home, realize how hard my day was, and give me a hug. Let me tell you, I am more likely to hit the lottery. I have made my peace with that. We struggle enough, the last thing we need to worry about is training our partners how to treat an ill person.
Live Love Fight like you fucking mean it.
Oh, and yeah.. by the way; I cuss. I say “dirty words”. I had a group on facebook delete my blog and yell at me for fucking curse words. I promptly told them that I have this disorder that stole my life and causes me to be at war with my own body, the very last thing on my mind is whether or not you approve of my language. She said she would pray for me. I told her that I am great and she should pray for the ladies that don’t get good advice because it has a few F bombs in it.
I get it if you don’t like the language. I respect that. No one is making you say it. Ah well… My advice gets out there. Enjoy and please friend me on facebook and follow my blog. My heart and my love are in every one of these words. I give freely of that in the urgent desire to help those that I can,.