The gloves were off. In my corner I had my doctor working from his experience with what had showed some measure of success for other of his patients with the condition- although he did warn me that what worked for one might not work for another.
So began more medication, in different combinations. Still each morning I woke, feeling utterly and physically beaten before I even had a chance to rise.
My business folded. I could not work the slate. I was offered a place at Galway to gain a Fine Arts Degree. I deferred for a year (despite it beginning part time), the physical demands would have been impossible. I hoped that within the year I would have a handle on the pain. I was trying so many different approaches to get well. I didn’t. I declined my place the following year.
I had reached my lowest ebb ever. Depression engulfed me. In an effort to rid myself of the taunting thoughts that my sickness bombarded me with I sold my guitar and my pool cue. They were constant reminders of good times that I had lost all hope of every seeing again.
My life with other people had become a nightmare. Socialising was horrific , the background noise, even general group conversations split the head of me. Sitting, standing – the things I’d previously taken for granted, became a torture. As you can imagine it did little for my social graces. I was angry and abrupt.
People’s opinion ceased to be important.I didn’t want to be near anybody. My partner was very understanding but I still saw the hurt look in her eyes as I flinched every time she reached out to hold me.She said it was like living in a relationship that had three in it,
“You, me and the fibromyalgia.
And the fibromyalgia demands everything.”
I swore then that I wouldn’t let it win.
To be continued….