Bubble girl

Sometimes, I wish I lived in a bubble.  No people.  No noise.  No stress.
I'm just tired of people.  I'm tired of answering questions.  I'm tired of feeling bad and being in pain.  But most of all, I'm tired of people's words not matching their actions.  Empty words. They really don't do anybody any good. It makes the speaker look bad, and makes the hearer feel bad.  How does that help anybody?

If you can't handle what I'm going through, just say so.  If you don't understand what is happening, it's okay.  Neither do I.   But don't talk down to me.  Don't feign pity then call me a burden.  This affects me more than you.  What?  Is that a surprise? 

Normally, I say there's no place in my history I would want to go back to, but I'd gladly turn back the clock four years.  Back to before all this started and I felt good, contributed and was useful. I would put myself in that bubble and none of this would happen.  Unfortunately, that's not an option.  Thanks for popping my bubble.

What is enough?

Did you ever feel like there was enough going on when yet another thing is added?
On top of persistent health issues and the stress of trying to sell this stupid house, today's trip to the doctor gave more questions.  And stress.  Stress and fibromyalgia do not mix well.  So begins the vicious cycle.

I wish I knew why my body has decided to attack itself.  Maybe then I could do something about it.  The not knowing drives me crazy!  So I carry on, day by day, trying to live as normally as I can.  Some days are good, some days not so good.  That means I do what I can, when I can.

I was talking on the phone with my parents today, telling them about the doctor appointment.  My dad was wondering how I keep going, cooking, living when I have chronic pain.  The fact is, I can't stop.  It really isn't an option.  If I succumb to the pain and quit living in the daily details, I'll never crawl back up.

The other day, a friend asked if I believe God doesn't give us more than we can handle.  I do believe that, but I also think it doesn't really feel like that when it's happening.  But I can't help but wonder just how much He thinks I can handle!  I consider myself a pretty strong person, and alot of that is because I have a strong support system.  However, when things begin to pile up like this I can't help but wonder how much more can there possibly be.

I think it's time to apply for disability and that's a horrifying prospect.  It means admitting I am not longer able.  It means processing how I think others see me, as well as listing all the things medically wrong with me.  All the things that I struggle to not let define me will be front and center, displayed for all to see.  To me, that is perhaps worse than everything else.