Observing You

Dear Fibro,

Today, I feel like you are hovering all around me, like you’ve fashioned yourself into a suit of scouring pads, hugging me tightly at every turn. I can’t remove you while you scrub into me. Abrasive to my peace of mind. Bruising me with invisible bruises. 

I feel the weight of you with each move I try to make. Whether I sit, stand or lie down, each position brings its own individual challenges — stabs, jabs, or prickles of pain. Shooting pain or radiating pain. A never-ending menu of surprises.

I stare at you in the mirror sometimes, and it’s like staring at myself but more elusive.

This week, I noticed that I have worn a hole in my sheet with restless legs in pain at night.

I have no questions for you now — just making these observations so that I can remember these days.

~Nicole

The Changing Room Incident

Dear Fibro,

I just wrote you a note, but I want to send this off to you too, before I forget. Do you remember the other day when I was in the changing room and trying to pull that top on over my head, and you sent so much pain into my arms that I lost my breath and cried out in pain? That feeling of sharp pain and sadness lingered like a cloud for quite a while afterward, and I felt completely drained of awareness of anything other than me and you. What’s up with that? Must you? Really?

~Nicole