If someone would be kind enough to cue the sad sounding violins and hand out tissues for me before I start, that would be awesome.

I ended up taking an impromptu blogging break, which seems to be happening more and more lately. There is a valid reason behind this.

The fibromyalgia (what a fun word, learn to pronounce it and impress your friends!) has been ever so slowly getting worse. My “good” days are now a rarity, it seems. I keep waking up each day hoping to feel like my old self, even for just a few hours, but to no avail.

I rest, I take it easy, I swallow my meds, I nap, I smoke some reefer. I try to stagger my outings so I’m not piling on too much activity (the fibro monster loves it when I do too much!!)

I can’t explain how I feel to most people, at least not verbally. I think that some don’t even believe me, that I’m faking it. Or worse, that they don’t really give much of a shit any which way.

My brain is oftentimes a fuzzy, blurry, unorganized mess. I want to write something, I’ll have a kick ass idea and then, like some sort of giant straw, all of the pertinent data gets sucked out of my head.


And that is why I take these unplanned breaks. It’s not my mental health, which is mostly stable, occasionally a bit sketchy. I’m so afraid that I’m going to relapse, I just can’t handle that right now.

I think this is a bear. I like his mug, he’s got the look.


Now it’s the fucking piece of shitty garbage nobody has any real reason why it’s happening disease that sucks away at my soul.

I fight back hard. I want you guys to know that.

But I can’t help to think, if I’m already this sick at 42, how sick will I be in 10 years?

Then again, at least I’m planning on still being here 10 years from now. That’s got to be a good thing, figuring that two years ago I tried to overdose.

When I’m really feeling sorry for myself, I’ll spend my time reading articles, playing games on my phone, napping (did I mention that already?) and solving murders on ID channel before the detectives do.

I get so angry and frustrated that I could spit daggers. Being sick sucks giant hippo balls. The pure exhaustion that settles its waves across me is freakily unsettling.

And why the fuck do I feel the need to explain myself to people? We had a cookout with our next door neighbors on the 4th, it was a last-minute thing. They are great people, but there I am, telling them about my illnesses. I bet they were all like what the fuck, is this chick high?



I know that I should shut up, but I’ve always been a oversharer when I’m in a social situation, I’m so awkward around people who I don’t know well.

Well, this has been quite the fucking whine fest, hasn’t it?

I hope you guys are all doing well. I’m a bit behind on reading blogs, so please bear with me. I’m a work in perpetual progress.