You can’t live your life with a chronic illness, especially one like Fibromyalgia, without getting angry every now and then. I used to hide it, but not anymore. If my life makes you uncomfortable then there’s the door.
I’m angry and don’t tell me I have no right to be. It’s so easy for you to tell me how I should feel and how I should live my life. Who gave you that right? At what point did you learn more about me than what I know about myself?
I’m angry that I’ve had to spend more than half of my life trying to get a diagnosis for a condition that can barely be treated, much less cured. Instead of being able to just be a normal kid I spent day after day seeing doctor after doctor. I had to defend myself when doctors said there was nothing wrong with me. If they would have truly listened maybe my life wouldn’t have been so hard.
I’m angry that so many people don’t believe that Fibromyalgia is a real illness, when they don’t even know what it is. When did everyone become a doctor? I’ll be happy to give you the number of the two Rheumatologists who diagnosed me and you can take it up with them.
I’m angry that the same people mentioned above and then some feel that it’s their right to judge me and think less of me because I don’t have a “normal” job. No one knows what it’s like to be me, except for me and some days I don’t have a clue of what’s happening to me, so don’t pretend like you do. I had a “normal” job and I loved it, but my boss felt that I spent too much time going to the doctor. I had chronic migraines and I was going to the doctor every other week trying to find a medication that would stop them so I would be able to work. I ended up jobless and in the emergency room. Fibromyalgia is full of surprises like that.
Most of all I’m angry that I don’t remember what it feels like to not be in pain. I was 9 years old and I can remember that I climbed trees and fences. I remember running and jumping. I remember being strong and fearless, but I don’t remember what it felt like to not have this constant pain. I try so hard to remember, but all I know is this aching, throbbing, burning pain. I know I was free and I was happy, but I just can’t remember how it felt.
I get angry. Everyone does every now and then for some reason or another. This isn’t a plea for sympathy or attention. This is simply the way I chose to release my anger so I can continue you on with accepting and adapting to being sick. Usually I scream and throw things when it’s weighing me down, but I thought this way would be better. So now you can judge me because I’m angry and tell me again that I just need a psychiatrist. I’m happy that you have your life together and live in a perfect world.