As I sat down yesterday to see if I could think of something to post about here, Cranky Fibro Girl suddenly appeared in front of me, striding briskly out of a glittering cloud of smoke. (She does love to make an entrance.)
“Hi Cranky Fibro Girl,” I said. “You’re looking well.”
“Why thank you,” she cooed, twirling in a small circle. “I’m trying out a new shade of lipstick. Like it?” She pursed her lips in an exaggerated pout.
“Nice,” I agree. “Fiery Red definitely suits you.”
“So,” she began, all business now,” Why’d you call this little meeting? What can I do for you?”
“We-ll,” I replied, drawing out the word as I attempted to gather my thoughts which, on this day, was a lot like trying to herd cats. “I was hoping you had an idea for what I should write about next. I’m feeling a little stuck.”
“Ooh, that’s no fun,” she agreed, then did a double take as she actually focused on me. “Oh, wow-I can see why you’re having trouble. You look like sh*t.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” I snapped. “That’s so helpful.”
“Whoa, no,” she protested, throwing up both hands to ward me off. “I just meant I can understand why you’re stuck because you look like you’re feeling awful.”
“You got that right.” I smiled weakly to show that there were no hard feelings. “I’m in one of those patches where this stupid illness feels like a marathon that is never EVER going to end.”
“So why don’t you write about that?”
“Because I can’t think of any new way to say that I feel awful and that there doesn’t appear to be any relief in sight. And I don’t want to depress people, or bore them, or make them worry that I’m suicidal or anything.”
“Does it need to be said in a “new” way? she asked. “I mean, it is how you feel, and one of the reasons that people come to your blog is that you ‘tell it like it is’ when it comes to having fibromyalgia. Are people really looking for something shiny and different? Maybe they’re in a marathon too, and just want some reassurance that they’re not alone in this, and that there’s someone else who really gets what they’re going through.”
“That’s a good point,” I replied “and that definitely takes the pressure off of me-even though I’m the one who put it there in the first place. Thanks!”
“My pleasure. I’d stay and chat some more, but I have a mani-pedi in ten minutes and I don’t want to be late. Ta!”
She disappeared with a glittery pop before I had the chance to thank her, but I knew she’d get the message when she read this post.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hot date with my pain meds, my jammies, my iPad, and my couch. And if you’re running your own marathon today, may you too find the support you need to help carry you through this next long stretch.
You are not alone.
This totally sucks.
I really do get it.