Tomorrow is the first day of Autumn, and I can already feel your slight protests against the chill that’s creeping into the air.
That is why I’m writing you this note in advance–to ask if you would please cooperate with me as we transition over the next few weeks? The daylight hours are already shorter, which can be difficult for my mood and energy levels, so it would be extremely helpful if you would refrain from flaring.
I love Autumn — the crisp air, pumpkins, apples, hay rides, warm cider, time with friends and family. I’ve already planned some getaways and seasonal fun. Let’s enjoy together with no shenanigans from you.
I don’t understand why I feel this way – pain all over and so sensitive to anything remotely painful. I accidentally bumped into the car door yesterday and it brought me to tears, as did an accidental bump into the bathroom wall. These things shouldn’t be so painful. I’m sure some people would read this and think it’s just drama, but I don’t think it is – it HURTS, like automatic/involuntary tears-in-the-eyes hurts.
And the fatigue level is high. I slept a lot on Saturday – a lot – and whenever that happens, I do feel like I’m missing out on life. I see photos of other people’s sunny afternoon activities and feel like I’ve become a lumbering troll. I napped again on Sunday, and I went to bed early Sunday evening, and I still woke up today feeling like I had barely slept, un-rested, tiredness in every bone of my body. I guess this is all just part of the Fibro process, for now, for me . . . but I am feeling overwhelmed.
What can I do?
As you know, you’re flaring up right now. You’re in what seems like a jittery fit of temper because I tried to mow the lawn, which might have gone alright (we usually survive it together, don’t we?) except that tonight, the mower ran out of gas, and then I flooded it accidentally when trying to refill it, and then I was wrestling trying to start it again and then being the crazy neighbor trying to at least quickly weed wack the tallest weeds in my lawn when I realized the mower wasn’t going to come around . . . I’m sure I must have looked silly.
I would have just waited except that the next couple of days are busy & then I’ll be away for the weekend, but my-oh-my . . . you didn’t like any of that, did you? Now my arms are shaky, and aching deeply in your trigger areas, and I’ve broken out an ice pack to help calm the nerves that seem to be freaking out.
At one point, toward the end of our mower adventure, you shot a jolt of pain through my arm that almost brought me to tears. Part of me thought I should stop, but I’m also trying to stand up for myself, for my sense of desire to still be able to “manage” things without your interference. I’m still trying to learn where the line is . . . and still trying to come to grips with the fact that sometimes it’s just not going to be where I want it to be.
I don’t understand why you always feel the need to bring fog with you when you come to visit . . . it’s a bright sunny day outdoors, but in my mind, everything is suspended as though on damp, low-hanging clouds, moving slowly through humid mental air, floating, never quite landing. Focus is a challenge, and there’s so much for me to focus on between work, house projects, relationships . . . and of course, I can’t get by with just standard self-care because you want more time, more attention–demand added rituals and more complex steps. Sometimes you’re so needy. Any chance that you could just part the fog temporarily and allow the sunshine to stream in for the afternoon? That would really help.