The world always made me feel like I am
too much, too fast
And maybe that's just really unfair
Maybe the only one I should apologize to
is myself
For saying, "shh, keep that in. They're not ready for that."
I am not sorry I lived too much, too soon. I am not sorry I know too well what I want and need now.

I am a house on fire
I am a cracked windshield waiting for a bump in the road
I am ***** clothes in the corner of the bedroom
I am a respiratory system full of water


You think your suffering friends never reached out because they thought you wouldn't understand, wouldn't be there for them...
No. The reason they didn't come to you
is because there was nothing you could do.

she understands my heart
she is forgiving
she is kind
she holds me when I don't know why I'm crying
she listens while I try my best to explain why I'm scared, or why I'm anxious, or why I'm sad, or why something means so much to me
and then she never forgets to say, "I'm always here, if you want to talk more"
she has the best taste in music
she got me in the habit of taking my medicine every day
she takes care of me, and pretty much everything else
she cleans the litter box when I'm in too much pain, even though she hates dealing with ****
she even deals with my crazy family

I love her because
she encouraged me to go to all the doctors when I was scared and in denial that I was getting sick
and now
she drives me to every appointment, she sits with me,
waits with me,
and then sometimes she speaks for me because she knows what it sounds like when articulation fails me, and my words get all caught up in my brain, confused on which order to come out

I love her because
she's my good feeling
she makes my stomach flip
she's my favorite smell
she kisses me with soft lips and care
she has little ears and freckles and the best **** smile you've ever seen

I love her because
when I was awful, she loved me
when I was lost in the darkest nights, she made my mind a better place

I love her because I used to spend weeks in storms of dark, listening to sad music and writing sad poetry

and now I write things like this
and listen to ridiculous happy fun music with her and we sing like fools
and she says "thanks for doing life with me"
and I have never been more at peace

Haven't you seen me sleep walking?
I've been holding your hand.
Haven't you noticed me drifting?
Oh, let me tell you, I am.
Tell me it's nothing.
Try to convince me that I'm not drowning.
Oh, let me tell you, I am."


This might be the worst I've ever felt

You don't have to be vulnerable.
You don't have to keep putting your heart in the hands of those who have been reckless with it.
You don't have to stay to feed their egos and wait for crumbs to fall your way.

Pick up all the pieces of your heart from around her feet, gather and hold them close; run, hide, glue them back together when you're strong enough to endure the cuts on your fingers
from dealing with
such sharp shards.
You don't have to be sad forever.
You can choose something else;
you can run.

You can choose something else;
you can run.

Run when the halo burns your eyes.
Run when she lets you hit the ground.
Run when she is a different person more often than she is who you love.
Run until you can lift off the ground and fly.

Spin around, keep running, run around until you fly off the ground. Be a hurricane. Rain your aching, screaming, built-up agony all over her house. Shake out all the tears she pulled out of your heart, wring yourself out and let it pour out of you as you whirl away. Leave devastation in your path if you must; she should have thought of the wreckage when she turned you into this.

Be strong, be all the good that you are, be all of it for only yourself, exhale every bad feeling you got from this, and move on.

you fall down, you have no choice but to get back up.
when you get back up, you lose something; a piece of your strength, energy, will... something. keeping on is not free.

you spent the day in bed. too exhausted to get up. you're so sick of bed. your body feels angry for being so still. you just didn't have it in you to move around today. this is fatigue. it isn't fair. in fact, it's cruel.

there is no feeling good anymore. there are what some poor souls refer to as "good pain days" which is just another way of saying
"I know what it's like to be in such bad pain that you want to die, and I'm just thankful today's pain was at least not the worst it has ever been"

you're on no kind of schedule. it'd be a blessing just to eat and sleep at normal times, with some regularity. you feel like crap all the time. you gain weight and lose muscle. you feel weak and heavy.

lie in bed. peace of bedtime is a foreign concept,  your body aches to be comfortable, and you may doze off for 3 seconds before jerking awake by inconsiderate muscles that don't really care that you haven't had a solid hour of rest in 2 days.

pills are a blessing and a curse. relief and side effects. they allow you to rest and they mess with your brain. you'll get so sick of taking pills and you'll begin to hate them for needing them.

the very best you see in your future is surviving. that's what fibromyalgia is. your job is getting through the days of pain and exhaustion, the physical and mental detriments that come with it. your life is a fight, and you are so, so, so, so tired of fighting. you always, always, always feel you have no more fight left in you.



you're 21 years old and you fondly and bitterly remember a time (not too long ago) when you thought some things in life would just be givens; career, family, adventure, accomplishments.... health.

you're 21 years old and you learn that you get none of the above. you're too tired, you hurt too much, and this disease seems to only get worse... it seems to have taken everything from you

and then it takes some more.