Today hurt. Physically, I mean. A lot. This relapse is a persistent sod, that’s for sure.
BUT it didn’t win today. It didn’t define it. Despite undercoating the day in a thick and heavy pressure, pain won’t be the thing I remember about today.
Today will be about an afternoon in the sunshine, watching Kai play cars as I sat and untangled the heavy knot of wool I have got in a mess (again) strand by strand. And then about the bucket of water and the thick, crumbly chalks we both carried to our old out-house wall which we stood by and covered in our scribbles, our bold water-soaked paintbrush stokes, and our hand prints, big and small.
It’s different being ill this time around. I don’t even like to call it ill. It comes and goes in any case; it is not the first thing I think of when I wake up, and it will not be the last thing I think about as I fall asleep, my mind far too busy with the remembering of rainbow chalk on red brick and the sound of the rain, falling now, as I imagine it washing away our graffiti in bright torrents.
Fibromyalgia hurts, like you wouldn’t believe some days, but I have no fear of it any more. Somehow I seem to be finding ways to work through it in a way that I struggled to do before. It just feels like an annoyance more than anything. It is not me any more, as it once was, years ago when it dominated every single thing I did and was.
I guess this is just a way of me saying that I’ve come a long way. I’m amazed how much stronger I am.
And I wanted to set down that down here, because I felt proud of myself today, and I don’t feel that all that often.