We all have them. It’s okay to admit that.
For me it feels like every other week is a flare. I’m not even sure how that is possible, but it is and it’s not fun.
I’ve begun jotting down some of the thoughts that go through my head when I am stuck in bed riddled with pain. Maybe you can relate?
This is it. I’m going to die. This pain has to mean I’m dying.
How is this amount of pain even possible?
This is it. This is my life now.
How many heating pads can I have on how many body parts at once?
Am I maxed out of meds now? Or can I take more?
My bed and my body pillow have taken me as their own. We are now in a polygamous relationship and I’m okay with it.
I feel like my teddy bear is the only one who gets me.
I can no longer cry. My eyes are swollen and I have no more tears left.
When was the last time I showered?
I’m not going to shower today.
I don’t remember what outside looks like.
There is an outside, right?
Life is pain.
Either I sleep all day or can’t sleep at all. There is no middle.
There is no comfortable position. There is only toss and turn and thrash and cry until you eventually pass out.
Why is my skin so uncomfortable?
When was my last good day? I had one at some point, right?
How long have I been in bed? 10 minutes or 10 days?
Come on, Netflix, I’m f***ing here! I don’t need this shit right now!
There will be another good day. There will.