Having This Bitch Is A Bitch
By the time you read this I will probably be un-funkified, but right now, today, I’m totally funked.
I have fibromyalgia, or as I like to *affectionately* call it:
Fibro is this weird – disease? syndrome? alien invasion? – that affects the neuro pathways of the sympathetic nervous system.
Which is a fancy way of saying my mother-lovin’ nervous system is waaaaaaay out of whack, and is reacting accordingly by firing on all eight cylinders at once.
All. The. Time.
And, me being me, I have the worst case of it my doctor has ever seen.
Of course I do.
There are medications for it, but I’m unable to tolerate any of them. So, I suffer..a LOT…and take regular pain meds when I can’t stand it.
Today, and for the last few days, I’ve been unable to stand it.
Even my friggin’ hair hurts.
My wrists, ankles, shoulders and elbows ache. My ankles lock up on me when I walk.
My rib joints are inflamed and painful, and my sternum feels like someone performed CPR on me for several hours…non-stop.
Breathing is a constant internal argument:
ME #1 – You HAVE to breathe.
ME#2 – I know that but it hurts every time I do.
ME#1 – Yes, well tough shit. Try NOT breathing and see how that works for you.
ME#2 – Screw you.
I’m nauseous (from the pain) and listless…not just tired, mind you, but literally lethargic.
Even as I type this I’m fighting a very strong urge to lie down and go to sleep.
Right here. Right now.
And it’s only 8:00 in the morning…I’ve been up about an hour.
What was my point?
Oh yes, I have no point.
I often have no point. It’s part of my *charm*.
I’m just whining.
I’ll stop now.