I keep running back to the things that broke me.

Years of stress and pushing myself to my limits, and yet I am still bound and determined to continue down the same path of self destruction. I am curious as to why this is. I have the opportunity and the time now to really think about how it all went so wrong.

I never took very good care of myself, and still don’t. Perhaps I enjoy torturing myself for some reason. Why is it so easy to put myself down, and treat myself with such hatred? When did it become acceptable to slam myself for all of my mistakes and bad behavior?

I blame myself for having fibro. Somewhere down the line, I ate the wrong food, or didn’t walk that extra mile. I smoked too many cigarettes, sat on the couch instead of going out one too many times.

I wish I hadn’t been so lackadaisical with myself. I should have taken that nap, or quit that job that was turning me inside out. I allowed this disease to take over. I never realized just how powerful a force it was until it was too late.

Even now, as I get ready to take an early nap in hopes of making an appearance at a family picnic, I am disgusted with myself. I might not wake up well rested and feeling up to hiding my pain. In fact, the odds are not in my favor.

I was rereading articles yesterday, trying to find a cure. This is funny, because I am no great brainiac, just a high school graduate with a mission. I can’t and won’t stop talking about fibro, because there needs to be awareness and knowledge. 4-5% of the population have fibromyalgia. The chances are high that you know someone besides me who has it. It is taking people like me, in the prime of their lives, and sucking away at us, like the marrow from our very bones.

I am not alone. We might be too fatigued to shout from the rooftops, but even our lowered voices deserve to call out loud and clear.

 

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