I am sitting in a shell of ouch. Only my internal organs aren’t hurting. This may be long or this may be short; depends on how long my hands hold out. (See also why I love microblogging so much.)
I knew this was going to happen if I kept going and lo, here it is: hard flare. CFIDS turned up to eleven. Onset of fever and generalised body aches last night. Put off sleeping until I felt betterish. Ate this morning, conked out two hours later, tossed and turned in fever dreams the whole time, finally got up because maybe Advil will put me out of my misery or something.
I say maybe because I haven’t the patience to wade through all the crap out there by people who tie CFIDS to their own agendas. No, I don’t believe this is the depression speaking. I know what depression fatigue does to me. I don’t generally hurt this much with depression. It’s like every nerve in my skin misfiring right now. Well, at least I’ll be ready for shingles when they come, right? (Pause to gently knock wood.) Long bones achy, muscles around them achier; I know what I did to earn that. It was worth my while. Hands like an old woman, though. Don’t know why. And my back, and my shoulder, and sometimes (this is the weird part) in my chest.
Sleep does nothing for this. Only time.
I still have enough energy to be pissed off that people think vaccines do this. I hadn’t had one in ages when I first fell ill. Or diet. Look, I know I eat some of the wrong shit. A lot of the wrong shit, fine. My diet has only gotten healthier. I’m teaching my body how to enjoy a variety of foods, which wasn’t the case when this started, or for years after. The answer is not this supplement or that herb. The answer is what works for me. I’m lucky, all right? It’s mild in me, whatever causes this. I can and do go into remissions, not completely but mostly-enough to live. I get post-exertional malaise. I am in PEM. It sucks and sets me back, doing-stuff-wise. I hate not doing stuff. What I hate more, though, is people who push their flavor of crunchy on others who are just. trying. to find out whether a damn Advil will help.
This blog and this blogger deal with CFIDS as realistically as every other struggle, so don’t come here expecting crunch or woo. You can get that everywhere else. My psych told me yesterday that my mother and I have both cultivated the ability to face the world without sugarcoating it — I am paraphrasing — and he approves. Believe me, the last thing I want is your side-eye as to what’s really happening. This is really happening. I am carrying on as best I can because this is what the women in my family do. I promise myself, say, a page of progress on that textbook thing and I do four and a half and I’m happy. One bite at a time, more if I want more. We do what we can.
I’m not hiding behind anything. I’m ripping myself open to show you: this is how I live.