The Fates are some twisted sisters. They must have sat around one day dreaming up the most messed up combinations of illnesses. They were really having fun when when they planned out my future. They must have gotten such a kick out of giving me polar opposites for chronic illnesses to bear – yes, the pun was intended. “Hey, Clotho! Wouldn’t it be hilarious to give someone a disease where they have to pace their physical activity and require good sleep habits, and combine it with another disease where they have way too much energy, can’t sit still and don’t need sleep?” Well, sister, welcome to my world! That is what you get when you have bipolar disorder and fibromyalgia. On days when the mania starts acting out of control, I can count on the fibromyalgia flaring up like a bad dream that just won’t go away. I mean, what the Hell! The cruel irony of having days when I feel on top of the world, like I can do everything I ever dreamed of doing, when I feel so vitalized and super human. Oh, those days are like liquid gold, like I have found the Fountain of Youth and it is calling for me to drink deeply… But then fibromyalgia rears its ugly, painful head. My body contorts in pain. My muscles spasm in agony. My joints ache like a son of a bitch. And the lack of sleep turns my brain to mush, fogging up my once brilliant mind. It can take days, months to recover from a glorious manic high. The consequences of not taking my medications or simply slipping on a banana peel of Fate. Whatever the cause, the damage is always the same.
The way I see it, I must have really pissed off someone in a past life to deserve the perverse hand of cards I was dealt. What could I have done? Maybe I offed Kennedy or Lincoln. I could have been Jack the Ripper or Typhoid Mary. Whatever it was, it was bad. I can’t believe life would be so cruel to send me these two chronic illnesses (not to mention the other health problems I have had or have) without there being a cause. I refuse to believe that I simply pulled the short stick in life. Pessimistic, I know. Instead of seeing the glass half full, I have always wondered who the Fuck drank my water? But I know how unproductive this thinking can be (cause lets face it, after the mania comes the depression). I know I need to force myself to think differently about my life. Therefore, I should focus on what my illnesses have taught me. Or maybe I should focus on the difference I can make for others because of my illnesses. I know at some point all this will make sense, there will be a moral to the story of my life. It may be something as simple as treat your body with respect when you are young so you reap the positive rewards later in life. I am just hoping it is not something sadistic like we all live a miserable life before we die.
On that cheerful note, have a great week! 😉