My Mid-Life Rebirth

I've been absent from most social media and websites for a period of some seven months.

I apologise if my disappearance caused anyone any concerns.

The truth of the matter is that I suffered some kind of meltdown. Years of pain coupled with months of depression finally caught up with me and I decided, for my own sake and the sake of my family, to shut down everything!

I avoided my computer. I left contractual obligations unmet and projects unfinished, I stopped responding to emails and, eventually, gave up even opening my email client on my phone or tablet.

I sought help from my doctor, who prescribed Prozac. The prozac kicked in after three weeks and for a few weeks I felt bouyant enough to concentrate on getting myself fully better. I had some hope of beating the negativity I'd been feeling for months. But within a few weeks the Prozac had stopped working - or had worked too well - because I suddenly found that my whole personality had been transformed, and not in a good way. My wife and daughter bore the brunt of this new "personality." I became unemotional, withdrawn, spiteful, argumentative and downright bad-tempered.

My life, in just a few weeks, had irrevocably changed. My marriage suffered (beyond repair) and we are now still living in the same house, but only because we cant afford to divorce or sell the home we had made for our daughter's future. If this situation continues to work for us both then at least Emily will always have a home once the mortgage is paid off - but it's far from ideal for either of us.

I became a different person - in so many ways I'm not going to describe here - I changed, and not in a good way.

At the time of writing this- it is now January 14th 2017 - I have reached a point where I feel I can function. To me I'm back to my old self - but it seems, that to my family, and in particular my wife, I am still the person I became in early summer last year.

Being in constant pain meant I was prescribed many different drugs - all of which played a part in my downfall. Most notably I was prescribed Prozac - which, when combined with morphine, amitriptyline, cocodamol and copious quantities of alcohol, completely altered my personality in the way already stated.

I am still in constant pain - despite the drugs. Despite the drinking. Despite everything.

Pain is now my life - emotionally as well as physically. Pain rules. I no longer take Prozac. I no longer drink to excess, I limit my morphine intake to days when I'm not working. Yet still - pain rules.

PAIN RULES as it has done for the past fourteen years.

It reached a peak in early summer 2016. I took prescribed medication to help. It didn't help.

I took advantage of the breakdown of my marriage to indulge in a different way of life - in the hopes that being true to myself would somehow heal my pains- it didn't.

I undertook a course of psychological counselling to try to beat my depression. It didn't work, but it did force me to take a good look at myself, and the overriding facts became clear (so in that way I suppose the counselling did work.) Pain was ruling and ruining my life because I was letting it take over. From waking to going to sleep pain was in my every thought and action. Pain, pain, pain. More pain and a little pain added for good measure. I was encased in pain. Not merely physical pain, but mental pain too.

I forced myself to join a gym. I turned the mental pain into more physical pain - but there was a reason for this pain. A cause to my suffering that I could identify - I was exercising my aching muscles and now they ached because I was working out - not because of the fibro - I was causing the pain and, in this way, it became more acceptable psychologically.

Being able to identify the cause of at least some of my pain made it a whole lot easier to accept - plus this pain has added benefits in that I look much better, physically, than I've ever looked. I have muscles - the guys at work now compare themselves to me rather than the other way of me comparing myself to them (and feeling inadequate like I always did) I'm fifty one, but I feel so much better than I did when I was twenty one.

Some might call it a mid-life crisis. I call it my mid-life rebirth.

Being Overwhelmed

Overwhelmed is a word I used to associate with joy - "I'm overwhelmed to meet you!", "Your beauty overwhelms me!" I've never thought of it in the context of being overwhelmed by an illness. But that's how I've been feeling for a while now.

My illness is overwhelming me. I feel like it's beginning to become me, to define who I am, and I don't like it one bit.

I'm determined to not let fibromyalgia become me. Like some creeping algae slowly enveloping me in its insidious green slime. So far it's taken over so many aspects of my life - work, social, family. 

There's so much of the life I once knew that is now stagnated by fibromyalgia. I'm no longer able to plan anything with any certainty, family outings have to be decided on the day and can end abruptly half way through an activity, work has been reduced to just 16 hours a week - and still I have to call in sick some days, and my social life ended about four years ago.

Accepting you have an illness and accepting the limitations that illness places upon you is one thing, but allowing the illness to define who you are is an entirely different kettle of fish, and it's something I don't want on my epitaph - "Here Lies That Guy with Fibro."

I suppose I'm going to have to get myself a new mindset to accomplish this feat. I definitely need a shot of positivity to begin with, so I'm throwing this out there to ask:

"How do you keep yourself from being overwhelmed by your illness?"

"How do you stop yourself from becoming your illness?

 Answers on a postcard to.... or you can just post a comment!

All suggestions will be considered seriously.

   

Being A Fibro Dad at Christmas

Christmas is a wonderful time of year. A time for living, a time for believing, a time for trusting, not deceiving, love and laughter and joy ever after, ours for the taking,..... ahem! sorry, slipped into Cliff Richard mode there, but Christmas is definitely a great occasion best spent with family and friends. Great nights in, great nights out, fun, laughter and yes, joy ever after. (Cliff was so right!)

But what's Christmas like when you're in constant pain?

I've spent thirteen Christmasses in varying degrees of agony. Christmas 2002 was spent looking after my heavily pregnant wife - pushing her around town in a wheelchair because the baby had decided to settle on a nerve somehow. A year later and I'd been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a condition which I didn't fully appreciate at the time. Nor did I have time to. A new baby to care for, a wife with post natal depression and anxiety to care for, a house to look after and a full time job, there was no time to think about what I was doing to myself. 

I started coming down with every condition known to mankind - flu, bronchitis, cold after cold, stomach disturbances, and pain. So much pain. My back was the worst, lower to middle, aching constantly, but I fought on and each Christmas I stood at the oven cooking the family feast. No matter how much pain I was in. I'll be doing so this year too. My wife and I promised ourselves that we'd book somewhere for this Christmas but her mother wouldn't hear of it, so  it'll be just as it always is.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy Christmas, and I love cooking the meal, but once in a while I'd like to give my body a rest from it. Thankfully we don't have a massive family descending upon us each year - but, sometimes, it would be nice to, so that we could go to them!

Also, since 2003 we've had our little bundle of joy to entertain and excite in the run up to the big day. A a father I was suddenly expected to not only cook the Christmas dinner but also unpack and assemble the latest fad-toy - Disney Princess houses, fairy coaches, Barbie cars, kitchens, Littlest Pet Shop villages, Play Mobil schools and villages and cafe's, Moshi-Monster tree houses - all of which seem to have been packaged in high security metal twists and impregnable duct tape, with no prospect of speedy opening or the "Easy assembly" promised on the box! It's difficult enough for a fully able bodied person to fathom these things out. Manufacturers obviously conclude that because you're buying for a child, you're young enough and fit enough to unpack and build their items - they don't think of the less able bodied.  

Thankfully, this year it's fashion and make-up and Hunger Games Mockingjay stuff so there'll be no assembling (fingers firmly crossed) and Emily is at an age to understand that I'm no longer Superman. Imagine telling an excited little girl that she can't play with her new toys until Daddy has the strength to assemble them? It never happened. I pushed through the pain to complete the task, and paid for it later. But it was all worth it in the end and we have some very happy memories to look back on - my only regret is that I don't know how much better it could have been had I not been in agony for most of it.

How do you cope with Christmas? Do you push through and suffer the consequences later, or do you hide yourself away until it's all over? 

Positivity In Pain - An Apology.

I have always considered myself to be a fairly positive person, but recently I've been having so many negative thoughts I'm beginning to think I'm turning into Victor Meldrew!

Over the years I've berated my mother in law for her negativity (a prime example would be me saying what a lovely day it is and her responding "Aye, but it won't last, it never does!") but on October 10th I reached a milestone - my fiftieth birthday. The big five-O. My half-century. And, all of a sudden, EVERY LITTLE THING IS GETTING ON MY NERVES! I have little interest in anything other than drinking tea (or Carlsburg) and watching TV. If I have to move out of my chair I do so like a petulent child. It will be no surpise to me if, tomorrow, I throw myself on the ground, thrashing and screaming, if I don't get my own way over the TV viewing for the night! I just feel like kicking-off like that, just once, to see what reaction I get.

It is fair to say, in my defense, I am in a great deal of pain, twenty four hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days of the year, but I've been at this level of pain for approaching a full year now, with no relief, and prior to my fiftieth birthday I was placidly getting on with it, living as best I could and trying not to let it get me down. Come 'post fiftieth' and a switch must have been triggered. Miserable. Grumpy. Whiny. Moaning. Depressive. Negative. I just can't seem to help it. Minor irritations are now big irritations. My pain levels have gone through the roof, or at least it feels that way.

So, was it reaching fifty that triggered this depression, or was it suffering the pain for just too long? I can't even blame the medication because I don't take any of the prescribed stuff anymore - just paracetamol which has zero effect!! Either way, I'm in a deep depression at the moment and I just want to apologise to any readers out there for my negativity. I'm sure things will improve. In time. (I hope)

Just ignore me until I have something positive to say!

Welcome to H.M.P Fibromyalgia. You'll Never Leave.

Fibromyalgia is akin to a prison. Not a nice, open prison, or even a high security pampered lock-down with all the comforts of home. Oh no! Fibromyalgia is prison with hard labour. No chance of parole. No time off for good behaviour. No chance of ever regaining your freedom. Fibromyalgia is a lifer prison, with bells on!

HMP Fibromyalgia has everything you need to live a normal life, a lovely home, comfy furniture, nice surroundings, you even get to live with your family if you have one, you might even be allowed to work in a real job, for a while. In fact, from the outside, no one would ever know you had been convicted and sentenced to life. But, inside, it's a living nightmare, a daily (and nightly) walk through hell.

I was 'imprisoned' over twelve years ago, locked up by invisible, sadistic guards who seem to want to punish me for daring to dream of being pain-free, stabbing at my intestines, twisting my muscles and tendons to breaking point, forcing cotton-wool into my head, switching on my brain just when it wants to go to sleep, allowing me the strength to plan a family outing and then cruelly intensifying my pain levels on the day of the trip, or feeding me something which, ordinarily, does not upset my delicate gut lining - except on this occasion, denying me the very basic human right to be pain free and lead a 'normal' life. 

HMP Fibromyalgia is the most vile and terrifying of all prisons because it gives you the outward appearance of being free whilst surreptitiously removing all of your freedom.

The evil and sadistic invisible guards have the upper hand at all times. You never know they're there. You never know when they'll attack but attack they will, and it will be when you least expect it. This makes you anxious every day, and that anxiety never leaves you. You may be spared punishment for an hour, a day, a week or more, but the anxiety of an imminent attack never leaves you. This psychological torture, combined with constant pain, eventually breaks you and you become depressed - as I am now - adding yet another dimension to your life sentence in another wing of HMP Fibromyalgia.

Welcome to HMP Fibromyalgia - Depression Wing. We might let you leave one day.


Hang on, No, we won't.


Oh, alright then.


Nope, just kidding!.

Are You A 'Loner' or A 'Sharer'?

When you live with any chronic condition there are highs and lows. For me the highs are when my pain is at a manageable level and I can get on with the things I want to do, whether it's mending something in the house, doing a bit of art, blogging or just trawling the internet for a couple of hours. 

These activities provide me with a bit of 'me' time, when I can escape the rigours of family life with only mild pain and life is good. Another 'high' for me is spending time with my wife and daughter - trips to the park or the local museum for my daughter and me, and days out as a family (usually involving shopping - which I abhor, but put up with for the sake of family unity!) as well as cosy nights in front of the TV. These are the things I enjoy during the 'highs'.

But doing these activities during the 'lows', when my pain is riding high,  I find depressing. It's because I'm unable to enjoy them as I normally would. I get that. Because I can't sit still to draw or watch TV, I can't walk (far) without severe pain and I can't focus on anything but the pain. It's depressing for me because I feel I'm letting my family down. It is during the 'lows' that I find myself wishing for solitude.

I'm not really nice to be around when I'm in agony. I do try, really try, not to let it affect my family, but I fail, really fail, at hiding the fact I'm in a 'low'. I don't think my family would, or should, want to be around me - so I pray to be alone. However, I rarely am alone and this makes me depressed - especially if I wake in a 'low' on a day we had planned to do something and we have to cancel - because of me, it's my fault, I'm depriving them of their fun, if it wasn't for me they'd be able to get on with it - that sort of depressed, that sort of feeling of 'if I was alone I wouldn't be letting anybody down.' 

So I've reached the conclusion that, essentially, and because I'm in unmanageable pain for probably 75% of the time, I am a 'Loner.' I hate 'sharing' the 75% of my life.

My wife is the opposite. My wife hates to be alone when she's suffering with her ME. She loves to share her pain and fatigue symptoms with us and explain how she's feeling at every given opportunity. I find that odd and, at times, profoundly irritating and yet it is also endearing and intriguing. Being polar opposites I find makes me want to be more like her. I could never go in to as much detail about my level of pain with her as she does about hers to me but, sometimes, I wish I could unburden myself like that. Case in point: I hold back on everything I'm feeling when talking to my GP - and because of my reticence to share the finer details, he is confused about how best to treat me and I no sooner sit down in front of him than I'm walking out of the door. My wife's appointments last a minimum of fifteen minutes. My wife definitely likes to 'Share' it all!!

So, what about you? Are you a 'Loner' or a 'Sharer'?

(This post was originally shared at MyFibroBlog)