This may sound too personal, but I don’t really have “normal people/NT tact”… Skip if find “inappropriate” or whatever… But lets face it, we’re all built with the same things at the end of the day (generally).
I don’t know why I hope it’s not going to get any worse. It’s as if as soon as I do, it does just that.
There’s no sleep. There’s virtually no rest. I’m so exhausted, yet doing nothing – just breathing is enough to make me feel as if I’ve just run up an entire mountain.
First I lost control of my legs. Then I needed a catheter. Now… it’s peristalsis. Yes, that’s… gross. But it’s scary – I mean, who wants to find out that now those muscles are starting to fail too? I’m struggling – spent the last few days… a week?… I don’t know… in hell where it wouldn’t work and I was in agony. Even the smallest attempt at my body to even try either causes my bladder to contract instead (who the hell knows how that happens – and it’s beyond excrutiating)… and if the mixed signals end up in the right place, even that hurts because any muscle contractions below my sternum is agony in paraesthesia, because of how my Fibro has decided to confuse itself and make me semi-numb from the sternum down.
The exhaustion I already had was killing me. This now… This has really pushed me beyond my limits. I always have to push them, find new ones. Raise (or lower, depending on your perspective) the bar of what my limits are. It seems that wherever I turn, I get punched in the gut, disappointed, not helped, fed to the wolves.
Apparently the CFS clinic the GP put me through to won’t see me because they don’t deal with you if you have a pre-existing condition causing it… despite CFS and Fibro being well-referred to as “Sister-Conditions”, and there is no “Fibromyalgia Clinic” – otherwise I’d bloody well already be there, wouldn’t I? And the most infuriating part? They didn’t eve bother to contact me – they just told the GP instead. Cowards.
I even contacted a neurological physiotherapy company (private) to see if they would at least try to help me, and they just basically said they were unable to help me – despite my basically having the same symptomology as other conditions they willingly treat. I wrote them back and put a flea in their ear, to which they replied they would be willing to put me on their waiting list… Wow, lucky me.
It really does feel that wherever I turn, I’m getting shoved back, ignored, refused. No matter what I do or where I turn… just nothing.
The GP came to see me the other day at home. Out of the blue, without the warning promised. I didn’t fare well… and I’m not sure how well it went. It’s still hard to portray how hard it is to exist in this… situation. I barely made it to her downstairs, and I paid dearly for it after in pain. She claimed she wanted to help. Well, at least someone has said it. Meant or not, who knows. Or meant, but unable to be acted upon. Nothing matters except the results, at the end of the day.
I’m existing in Survival Mode. It’s somewhere I haven’t been since I was a child, and I don’t very much like it. But it is familiar… and there is something comforting about that. It doesn’t does me much good, but it does help me get through this God-Forsaken Hell I am currently living in. It stops me going stir-crazy with distress, wondering how I fell so far so fast. How I’m so far away from everyone and everything I love(d). How lost and bleak I am, that my existence is. How I no longer live or have a life. How I’m nothing more than a
walking wheeling/crawling nothing. Nope… I’m not thinking about that. I can’t – or I won’t survive. Who would? I did this when I was a child because that was also a Hell, a crucible I was forced to run for nearly two decades.
Now… Now I just have to do it again. If a child can do it, so can I now.