A fibro flare sucks. It’s not fair. But it’s real. What am I going to do about it?

This has been my worse week–on top of a tough month–on top of a challenging year, since I was diagnosed with fibro. My pain is the worst it’s been. My sleep is uneven. My mind is muddy. And my emotional state is fragile.

Fibromyalgia does as it will. It comes uninvited, takes up residence in your body. It pollutes your mind and emotions. If you let it, it’ll eat you alive. When it’s bored it, it passes the time by torturing you.

And it’s reality for as long as it chooses to stay.

This morning, a person who seems to have every possible malady posted on Twitter that her life requires resilience and willpower, and fortunately she’s always had plenty of willpower. My response was that I’m doubting my resilience, but I guess that goes with the gig.

I’m not looking forward to today. I’m hurting and tired. My mind is foggy and my emotions are rickety. But today isn’t optional. It’s there and I have to live it.

Self-indulgence today serves no one. And the fact is, my emotions serve me; I am not their servant. My doubts and worries and anger over this bullshit condition are real. And they’re valid. But they’re getting in the way.

I have a job to do. I like my job. I’ve worked hard to gain the responsibilities I have, and I’m really good at carrying them out. I may reach a point today where I have to take a break–and that’s okay. But I believe in what I’m doing and I owe it to myself to find a way to bring as close to my A game as I can imagine.

It’s okay to doubt. It’s okay to worry. It’s okay to lose your shit now and again. But you have to find something to grab hold of, a bigger cause that’s worthy of the difficulties you have to traverse. Greatness is realized in the face of difficulty and my current difficulties allow me the opportunity to be great.

No one else my recognize it–and maybe that’s better. Doing your best when the chips are down isn’t about other people. It’s about making and keeping a commitment to yourself to always do your best. To strive for maximum effort, even when that effort is constrained. And to use your struggle as way to soften your heart and understand the struggles of others, rather than becoming rigid and isolated.

In this world, you will know troubles. In those troubles, you can choose to let them make you bitter and resentful. Or you can do your best, accept you’ll fall short sometimes, and still live the best possible life.

It’s hard and numbing. It sucks. It’s unfair.

But it’s the reality I’m dealt. What I choose to do with that reality is up to me.

If you have chronic health issues, they’re real and you’re a bad ass

I don’t write much about Fibromyalgia.

I don’t want to whine about it. It sucks. It’s part of my life. Water is wet.

I also don’t want to be defined by it. It sucks. It’s part of my life. Water is wet.

But the last few weeks have been really hard, fibro-wise. My entire body feels inflamed. Even when it doesn’t hurt–and it almost always does–it doesn’t feel right. Outside the pain, the best way I can describe it is that my entire body feels hollow. Right now, my right fingers, elbow, and knee feel like they they didn’t close their eyes when the Nazis opened the Ark.

The laundry’s getting done. Work is occurring. Life continues, but with a lot of downtime. I can’t exercise, I’m not writing as much as I want, and the couch is much friendlier than being upright.

I could bitch at God for this steaming pile of shit. Surely the world is better off with a healthy productive Chris than one whose toes feel like they might explode. But that’s not my decision to make. Reality is reality and when you can’t change it, you might as well not spit in the wind.

The fibro experience summed up in one picture.

What if God didn’t sit back and say, “I’m bored and things are going too well for Chris. How ’bout a little fire, Scarecrow?”

“Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire.”

What if shit just happens?

God either ordained this or allowed it. It’s possible tomorrow I’ll wake up and feel fine. It’s also possible it’ll be worse. I don’t know. I guess that’s why they call it faith.

Here’s what I do know: I can sit around and whine about this. I can curse God and the fates. Or I can accept it and move on. I can look for a way to make gold out of hay. I can do my best to handle this with grace and dignity. I’m far from perfect in this regard, but the effort’s not wasted.

There’s purpose in suffering. I done my best to become more empathetic. I understand things I never would’ve understood before. I can appreciate when people do what they can in the face of chronic “life is hard” issues.

I know how much it means to me when someone throws a little support and sunshine my way. I recognize how valuable that is, so I try not to be stingy with it.

Fire, considered differently, is sunshine.

When you have a chronic health problem, life is hard and lonely. You feel fragile and–if you’re a guy–less than fully masculine. As a guy in this culture, I don’t want to put forward the face of weakness and vulnerability. I don’t want to lead with how helpless I feel because I can’t control my own body. Cuddling up with a blanket isn’t something I’m drawn to.

I understand when other guys are feeling that.

I suppose some of this post is just venting. It’s mostly intended to tell you that if you’re scuffling along in difficult circumstances, you’re not alone. Your efforts aren’t in vain. You’re tough and brave. Though you might feel like you’re alone at the bottom of a pit, there’s a lot of other pits. And the people in those pits at least have an idea of the load you’re carrying.

Crash if you need to. Pick it back up when you can. Thanks for your effort and example.