I’ve been waiting, since my Zombie Apocalypse, for something good, or significant, or interesting, or funny to share.
That’s not to say that nothing of import has happened – I had planned to write after the Paris attacks. When they happened, we were at a metal gig ourselves and even before I knew what had been attacked, I remember thinking that Islamists would imagine that what we were doing was somehow sinful, simply because they don’t understand it and can’t distinguish good from evil.
But I didn’t write because I didn’t have the energy to express the sorrow and anger I felt.
I haven’t had much energy for anything recently. I have had a basically unexplained illness since 2003, and since 2013 they have been calling it ME (or CFS, depending who you speak to) and now Fibromyalgia has been added to my list of diagnoses.
But my relapse has been so hard and so fast and so un-relenting this time that I have started wondering and asking questions about possible alternative explanations, so I have begun to do the rounds of neurologists and rheumalogists etc. trying to rule out MS, RA or Lupus.
Unfortunately, none of these specialists so far want to get involved with the ME/cfs/Fibro diagnosis. You shouldn’t have to bang your head up against a big brick wall when you’re ill but that seems to be the way of things in the NHS, particularly with this label.
When I do have more energy, I might write a bit about what is like to live with this illness. Mostly I just rant a little on twitter about the ‘symptom roulette’ that we experience.
But something I may not have mentioned before is guilt – there are so, so many ways in which I feel I am failing, and while I know it isn’t my fault, I am made to feel as though I am somehow choosing this – choosing to live in pain, unable to do the least work (yesterday, since we had visitors, I did my best to tidy, I cooked, washed up, and today I am a wreck, and can only *hope* the weekend is long enough to recover).
I hate living in a dirty, untidy house, and there is literally nothing I can do about it.
There’s a lot about the world, and my life, that feels out of control. My dreams have been weirder and more disturbing than normal, even for me. Music, and specifically Rock and Heavy Metal, is one of the few things that make me really happy in amongst all the mess and pain and sorrow.
So as much pain I am in, and as much as I feel wrecked beyond anything the word ‘fatigue’ can describe, the one thing I make sure I get out to is live music. I can’t drive there, and I usually can’t stand up for long. But if needs be, I’ll get taken in on a stretcher. Music, and art, makes life worth living 🙂