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 I became unemotional, withdrawn, spiteful, argumentative and downright bad-tempered.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.

Searching Health? - Don't Let Google Scare You!

I once searched "Fibromyalgia Symptoms" in my favourite search engine and it returned over thirteen million links. The first page returned included no less than four paid-for ads - where businesses pay a fee to be placed higher in the list. 

What struck me more than anything was the lack of relevance to my requested search. I had wanted a simple list of the symptoms of fibromyalgia, what I got was page after page of my kind of stuff - sorry bloggers of the world - solitary blogs writing about one of their symptoms of fibromyalgia. They appeared in the list because they'd placed 'labels' in the key words of their post such as "Fibromyalgia" and/or "Symptoms" 

So, without typing "A List of the symptoms of fibromyalgia" in my initial search I got over 13 million returns. (BTW actually typing in "A list of the symptoms of fibromyalgia" reduced the returns to a little over three million - again it included four paid-for ads at the top of the list.) Obviously, my favourite search engine has become over-crowded with irrelevant twaddle!

I don't know about you, but with my chronic pain I find typing unbearably painful at times - (I've been writing this post for three days!) - having to be so specific when entering my search criteria in to a search engine, in order to get the results I want, is not the best thing for me to do. I want to be able to type "fibromyalgia" and get all the information I need in one click of the mouse.

That's when I came across MedNexus. MedNexus is a health search engine that does exactly what you would hope a health search engine would do - give you straight answers to straight questions - no sponsored advertising crowding out the facts, no scary, turn my world upside down results like "Your itchy skin could be skin cancer." Just type in "Fibromyalgia" and the results will be there before you've even finished typing. It's THAT SIMPLE.

Why waste hours trawling through page after page of irrelevant results from Google when you can type your health query into MedNexus and get everything from the basics to in-depth articles and reviews that are current and relevant. There's everything from Asthma to Xenophobia - uncluttered, concise and categorised - without the dross. 

This is what MedNexus tells you about Fibromyalgia.

Doodling For Pain Relief.

I like to doodle. I've been a doodler all my life. As far back as I can remember, in times of stress, I'd doodle some nonsense creation or other. I got through school with doodles - I avoided the physical attention of the bullies by drawing weird looking characters to amuse them and they'd laugh instead of punching my lights out. If only they'd known that some of the doodles were of / about them!

In later life, through protracted meetings about targets and growth, I'd doodle obscene caricatures of the meeting attendees! It has kept me sane, or possibly insane, throughout my life.

These days I doodle to focus on something other than my pain. Writing in general tends to set off pains in my hands and fingers, but doodling needs a more relaxed hand to let the creativity flow so I can doodle for far longer than I can write.

I'm definitely no artist - though I do try, but sometimes what's intended to be a human eye turns into a slug, and most of what I doodle turns out cartoonified or bizarre. The thing is, it relaxes my mind. Helps me focus on something different and, for the breifest of times, takes my pain away.

Over the years I built up quite a collection of nonsense art - but most of it was accidentally thrown away last year - so I set up a web site to store my creations safely, for posterity and to allow others to share their ridiculous creations should they wish to do so - www.sillyart.co.uk is the site, if you'd care to take a look at some of what my odd mind churns out. (It's in development but will be updated soon with even more of my madness!) You might even want to share some of your doodles there.

Not all of my creations turn out to be doodles, some I'm actually quite pleased with, like this one: 

. But most turn out to be bizarre - like these:

How do you relieve the stress of being in constant pain?

If, like me, you find yourself doodling some mad creation, or even an actual, real, work of art, I'd love you to share it with me on the site - you can upload your art at www.sillyart.co.uk/contact.html .

Happy scribbling!

How Do I Develop A Coping Strategy?

When my pain reaches a level where I feel like I might die from it - or sometimes wish I would die just to stop it - I find it very difficult to think positively about my condition. Anyone in constant pain for thirteen years must surely, eventually, come to terms with it and learn to live with it. Not necessarily 'cope' with it, but live with it.

I haven't. I want to alter the way I am. I want to reverse it, go back to the days when I wasn't in agony when someone touched me, the days when I could sit and watch TV comfortably, lift heavy gear at work, climb mountains, kayak in the lake district, because I miss those times so much. And that makes the pain worse.

So, how can I live my life going forward when I so badly mourn the loss of my pain-free life?

I don't have a strategy for this.

I need a strategy to help me move on. To make a new life with the added element of "this is gonna hurt, but you're gonna do it anyway and to the best of your limited ability." I already do this, to a certain extent, with my job.

At work I lift stuff I shouldn't. I know full well it's going to hurt later (as well as during the task in hand) but I plod on - cases of eight 2litre bottles of Coke, 10kg bags of flour, 10kg bags of kitty litter, 24 pack beer crates. It hurts, but I do it when I can because to not do it would be to admit defeat and give up working. There are times when my body just will not allow it of course, and my employers know this so they tolerate the days when this happens, but in the main I do as I'm asked. Despite what will follow and in spite of my condition. I do it to maintain some semblance of the life I once had.

Am I wrong to push myself like this? I don't know. I do know that there are men like me all over the world. Men who toil and push themselves, trying to break through the pain barrier in order to avoid admitting defeat. There are, I'm sure, some men out there who go through all of this agony without ever knowing that they have fibromyalgia because they think that is what a man should do, it's 'normal' for a man to do a hard day's work and come home exhausted and in pain. They shrug it off as 'just an age thing' and put off going to the doctors - I know I did, for a long time. When I eventually went to the doctor - he could find nothing wrong. No strains, sprains, pulls, tears, arthritis, rheumatics, cancers. NOTHING. So it's got to be just me getting old, right?

At thirty six?????

Eventually, when you've been through all of the examinations, pokings and proddings by 'specialists' and they have found nothing wrong to be causing you so much agony, they stick you in the fibro category, and they leave you there to rot.

"You have to learn to live with it." they say, to which your reply should be "Okay doc, I'll do just that. Where's the training room?"

There isn't one of course. There is however this wonderful resource called "The Internet" and that's where you should begin developing your strategy for learning to live with fibromyalgia. Read blogs by people with fibro. Join facebook, google+ and other social media to engage with others in chronic pain. The internet is the only resource for helping you to come to terms with, and live with, your condition.

You're not going to get that from your doctor.

Meeting The Ghost of My Former Self.

I used to be quite a fit and healthy young man. From the age of sixteen I was forced into activities I wouldn't ordinarily have undertaken. Up to sixteen I avoided any physical activity because I thought I couldn't do them with any flare or skill like my schoolmates could. I was crap at everything - running - always came last, swimming - always came last, football - always last to be picked, cricket - ditto, hockey - ditto. Sport + Gary McArthur = Disaster.

At sixteen I joined the police cadets and everything changed. I knew it would and I wanted it to. Suddenly I was challenging my attitude to physical activities as something to be shunned by forcing myself (or being forced) to undertake them on a daily basis. Granted I still wasn't any good at them, but I tried to break my mindset towards them. The police force got me hiking, abseiling, camping, canoeing, mountain climbing, cross-country running, orienteering, weight training and partaking in almost every other sport known to man in much the same way as the army trains a team of dropouts into soldiers. The police force instilled discipline and order and gave me a massive sense of achievement. In amongst all of the legal definitions and laws and regulations the police force also gave me good health which lasted me well into my thirties. Conversely, it also taught me how to drink like a fish! (but never lose my self control) and that's another story for another time.

From sixteen until my mid-thirties I considered myself to be a fit and healthy individual - not obsessive, but I remained lean and strong and enjoyed outdoor activites like hiking. I'd bump into former school mates who'd let themselves go by piling on the pounds and I felt quietly smug that I hadn't descended into obesity. I was no longer embarrassed by my slender build as I had been at school.

Then.

Then I suddenly died. It wasn't gradual or slowly degenerative. It was overnight. I woke one day with backache. It was 2003. Between then and now I haven't had a single day without pain. Obviously, there have been good and bad, as well as bad and really bad, days, but every day I have had some level of pain in my back. Sometime after the backache began I started to get pain all over my body - arms. legs, head, neck, feet, fingers, toes, hips, knees, and sometime after those symptoms started I began to get the internal ones, IBS, Crohn's, you know the drill. Fibro affects us all in pretty much the same way and a whole myriad of different strokes for different folks.

The point is this, on that day in 2003 when I awoke with backache, my former self had died in its sleep. Over the course of the next thirteen years, as each symptom struck, I gradually became the ghost of the Gary McArthur I used to be.

The physically fit Gary McArthur became the disabled Gary McArthur, and over the course of 2015 the Gary McArthur who was always positive and happy go lucky and forward thinking and strong, became the depressed Gary McArthur, the negative and whining and hopeless Gary McArthur, and it was at this point in my life that I finally met, or recognised, the ghost of my former self - that skinny and spotty little sixteen year old boy, who'd been scared of all physical activities who, through sheer determination, had turned it all around, who'd laughed in the face of his fears and grown to love them (without ever being any good at any of them) was dead. He died when I gave up being 'well'. He died when I gave up fighting. He died when I lost hope during the course of 2015 and became depressed. He died despite reading hundreds of blog posts by other fibromyalgia 'survivors', all with a positive message that laughed in the face of their illness. He died when I stopped laughing in the face of mine.

But, fear not, for that skinny little sixteen year old's spirit is still inside me and he will live again.

I've set myself a goal for 2016: To find the spirit and the grit and the determination and the hope I had as a sixteen year old boy, and laugh once more in the face of my illnesses. To challenge myself in the way I did when I joined a career path I knew I wasn't suited to, simply to face my fear of all things physical.

Fibromyalgia and Depression

Having an invisible illness seems to lead to other invisible illnesses.

I have fibromyalgia. I also have IBS / Crohn's Disease. As my fibromyalgia was diagnosed first I assume that the anxiety and stress that placed on me, both at home and in my work, led to the turmoil in my guts. And it's been that way ever since.

Almost thirteen years have passed since I was first diagnosed with fibromyalgia and, in that time, I cannot remember a day when I didn't have symptoms from it. Of course it ranged from mild to moderate, moderate to severe, but always there. After four years of constant pain I eventually began to experience symptoms of IBS which, I assumed, were related to the lower back pain and I instantly thought I had cancer. After many weeks of putting it off I eventually went to see my GP and after a few more tests I was diagnosed as having Crohn's Disease an incurable inflammatory bowel disease. Oddly all tests since initial diagnosis have shown no inflammation so my gastroenterologist has 'downgraded' my condition to Irritable Bowel Syndrome - but it affects me no less because of this downgrading!

So, having lived with chronic pain for almost thirteen years and bowel disturbances for the past eight and a half years, I thought I'd had my quota of 'invisible' illnesses but it appears that I was wrong. For the Gods have decided to test me, yet again, to see how I cope with another layer of invisibility.

This new invisible illness came out of nowhere - as did the other two - but rather than hit me with symptoms all of a sudden - fine one minute, stricken the next - this cloak of invisibility crept up on me over a period of about two weeks. I'm talking about depression.

Obviously, when you live with chronic pain 24/7 for 365 days a year you're going to have times when you feel a little down and fed up with yourself. I've experienced times like that before but I've always snapped out of it fairly quickly and resumed as "normal" a life as I could under the circumstances.

But this depression has gone much deeper than my previous bouts of 'fed-uppedness' (if that's a word?) This depression has really knocked me for six. This depression has been the most invisible of all of my invisible illnesses - with fibro and IBS my family and work colleagues can see me physically wincing with pain or running off to the loo or holding my guts - sometimes they can hear my symptoms too, so as far as invisibility goes they're somewhat apparent to the outside world.

Depression is a whole new ball of wax. Externally there is nothing to see. I laugh at funny TV shows, I act the fool and joke around at home and make pleasantries with my customers and colleagues at work. My face and body show no outward signs of being ill.

In my head I want to explode. I want to shout at people who annoy me - the ignorant customers who don't say please and thank you when I have to fawn over them like they were royalty, the stupid ones who change their mind halfway through a transaction or wander off to get something else leaving me with a growing queue. I want to curl up into a little ball and hide away instead of facing these people. At home I join in because I have an obligation to do so, not always because I want to. I'm short tempered with the ones I love most and I hate myself even more because of it - and so it builds up and up and up until, one day, I know it surely must explode. Yet all the time I fight it so that, externally, my face looks 'real' and 'normal' just as I've tried to hide my chronic pain and gut turbulence for so many years. I try to be a valued member of society but I value myself less and less each day - I feel unworthy of praise, of love, of life itself. Things I love to do are being abandoned - art, drawing, photography, cooking for my family all feel like the most arduous of chores now whereas, six weeks ago, they were my life.

Depression is the most heinous of invisible diseases because there isn't a scrap of evidence of its existence. It's all in my head. I should snap out of it. I should think positively. It could be worse. I could be paraplegic - all the things we're told never to say to someone with depression I've told them to myself over and over again - and it's right they are definitely the wrong things to say to someone with depression because I can't snap out of it, or think positively and it couldn't be worse (surely) and I'm sure most paraplegics feel the joy of life sometimes and I know it's all in my head because it's a mental illness, to do with the brain, which is found, in most people, in the head!

I have not, as yet sought treatment for this depression, prefering to try and fight it myself - but I think I'm losing the battle. My reasons for not seeking treatment are that my GP thinks I'm a malingerer already and I'm worried about the side effects any medication might have on my already feeble guts. I know in my heart what I need to do - I've told many people in my position in the past to get treatment as soon as possible so I'm going to have to bite the bullet........ before I take a bullet.

Smoking.

For 34 of my 49 years I have been a smoker (49-34 = 15, yes, I was fifteen when I started!)

Apart from one period of eleven months in 2012 when I made a serious attempt to quit, I have smoked at least twenty per day, sometime upwards of 25.

I considered myself a hardened, dyed-in-the-wool smoker. I resisted every attempt to get me to quit. My wife (who's never smoked) and daughter have begged me, bullied me and bribed me to stop smoking. I never would. I could never see myself as a non-smoker. From the age of about twenty-five I made several half-hearted attempts to stop using every method known to man - self-hynosis, gum, patches, willpower, tablets, nicotine lozenges, electric cigs - you name it I've tried it. Nothing worked.

Last October, for my 49th birthday I tried a new electronic cigarette (not for the first time) One with a battery and detachable 'tank' which you fill with nicotine liquid and 'vape' through. I bought it as a smoker with no intention of quitting - I just felt the need to cut down because of the cash implications smoking has as well as the health ones. I gave myself a bit of advice - "Try not to smoke, try to use this instead, but really try." I expected nothing from myself other than I would try.

And try I have. Okay, so I use the highest strength of nicotine 'juice' I can find and yes, it very rarely leaves my lips, but my electronic cigarette has replaced real cigarettes in all but one aspect of my life - work. At work I manage to get through five cigarettes in a week - I enjoy a ciggie in my breaks - which is a vast improvement on my former smoking self when I would smoke twenty plus PER DAY. I'm incredibly proud of myself for coming this far.

I know there are those out there who will say "But you haven't quit completely." and they'd be right, I haven't. But it was never my intention to quit - which is what differentiates this attempt from other attempts to quit fully. The fact I'm allowing myself the occasional smoke at work has made it easier to carry on, rather than stopping altogether and making myself feel 'deprived' In the past I wouldn't have dreamt of going to bed without knowing there were enough cigarettes to see me through the morning of the next day. Now I can go to bed, wake up, get through the full day, go back to bed without ever smoking one solitary cigarette. They rarely cross my mind. If I don't have any I'm no longer the raving maniac I once was. By trying I've found I can live without them - at least when I'm not at work. That challenge is another bridge to cross when I get to it, but I'm sure that I'll get there soon as the ones I am still smoking aren't enjoyable in the slightest - in fact they taste rank.

Surely they haven't always tasted this vile..........????

Why did I ever start?