I'm not someone you'd consider to be overly religious. I've set foot in a church maybe 4-5 times in my 27 years. Once for a wedding, once for a funeral, once on a school excursion...and the other 2 times, well let's not go there. I haven't read the Bible, in fact I don't think I've ever even owned one.
But you know what? I'm a Christian. I always have been. I was bought up by my mum - a Christian and my dad, an atheist, who when I was young encouraged me to be a Christian and to have Faith no matter what, even though he didn't. I remember praying every night before bed with my dad. His faith was broken long ago, he says he'll never get it back. He is glad I believe in God though and I know he believes in something. I'm just not sure what.
After my diagnosis of FM, I was so angry. Angry isn't the right word for it, in fact 'furious' doesn't describe how I felt either. For months after my diagnosis, I went looking for answers. I searched and searched and searched. I tried hundreds of dollars worth of vitamins, new medications, exercises, therapy etc. I don't know how many hours I spent researching everything I could find out about FM and CFS. As you can see, every post in this journal has an aggressive undertone to it. Anger towards doctors, scientists, the media, people who confuse M.E. with CFS...anger towards myself, my friends, my family, my God.
I wish I could pin point the moment when I stopped feeling angry. The moment where the penny dropped. The moment when I realised that my anger was only fueling this disease - not fighting it. The moment that I realised the reason why I was so fearful, so frightened of everything was because I was constantly angry. Constantly seething. Constantly bottling up my anger with nowhere to let it out - except at myself, mentally. The anger went, and then so did the fear.
The fear left me the weekend we moved house. Anyone with FM will know how physically and mentally draining it is to move house. Anyone who's perfectly healthy knows what a massive thing it is to move house...but for someone with FM or CFS (or both), it's a marathon. The weekend we moved house was the first time I'd ever left my son with anyone (my parents). The thought of leaving him with my folks for the day plagued me for weeks. I knew my parents would take great care of him and that he'd enjoy being with his grandparents...however I'd never been away from him for even 30 minutes before that. The few days before we moved were filled with panic and dread - I was so consumed with this fear that I wouldn't be there to protect my son for one day that I hadn't even thought about moving.
The big day came. For some reason, that morning, I felt great. It's like all the fear and negativity had just left me overnight. My husband and I dropped my son off at my parents house...this was the moment I'd shed countless tears over and had many panic attacks at the thought of. We kissed him goodbye, hugged him and waved goodbye. No anxiety was in the pit of my stomach, no panic attack, no tears...nothing. My son's smile once he saw his grandparents instantly put my mind at ease. His smile at me when we left did too.
That day we moved house - unpacking, sorting, shifting, assembling, all the usual stuff moving entails. We picked our son up and I don't think I let go of him for a good hour or so. The next day, we spent 9 hours cleaning our old home. I remember the first week in our new home very well. The first 3 nights I could barely move. I was in so much pain that even rolling over in bed was almost impossible. Bending over or reaching for anything was agony. I then realised that this is how everyone feels after they've moved house. I had just gotten through something extremely physical and stressful, and apart from the pain, I felt amazing. For the first time in months, I felt proud. I felt hopeful. I felt like this was a new beginning, and it was.
I looked around our new home. I looked at the bath tub - something that hadn't been in any home I'd rented in 6 years. I looked at the dining room, something else that hadn't been present in any home I'd rented since living with my parents. I looked at all the space, the high ceilings, all the other luxuries that I'd forgotten had even existed. I still look out at the beautiful backyard every morning, which is so very different to the small concrete courtyards I am used to. I had room to breathe here, room to move and more importantly, so did my son. We love it here.
I still have chest pains. I still ache from head to toe some days. I still have times where I don't sleep for days...and when I do, it's broken. I still have days where I am so tired that I forget the most simple things. The difference is though that now, it doesn't frighten me. When I go for a walk with my son, if I become breathless, I stop for a minute instead of panicking and reaching for my phone to call my husband or 000. When I wake up in a panic, I let myself panic...usually while rolling my eyes and waiting for it to be over, instead of crying and thinking "this is it, I'm going to die". When I have chest pains, I no longer believe I'm having a fatal heart attack. When the left or right side of my face goes numb or tingles, I no longer jump to the conclusion that I'm having a stroke. Basically, these days, I have Fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia DOES NOT HAVE ME.
There were nights a few months back where I literally thought I was dying. It felt like every organ was shutting down and I had no strength left. For a good part of this year, I was convinced that my time was coming. I was convinced that FM was, indeed, going to kill me. For anyone who knows what it's like to believe they are dying; they'll know the horror, terror, grief, sadness, hopelessness, despair that one feels. The constant anxiety ruins any sort of pleasure or joy one almost feels. It is not something I would wish on anybody. Particularly a parent. For so long, all I could think about was that my little baby boy would grow up without his mummy. To anyone who has ever felt that way, my heart is with you. To any husband out there who's had to watch his wife suffer what I've lived through, my heart is with you.
I still look around our new home even though we've been here a while now. I look in the mirror these days too. The difference between looking in the mirror 3 months ago and looking in the mirror now is this - I now see me. I don't see my illness/disease/syndrome. I see a woman...a brave, strong, capable and faithful young woman. I see a mother, a wife, a friend, a daughter, a fighter. I see a woman who was blessed with a life, blessed by God. I see a woman who made her peace with God and who still asks God for strength, courage and wisdom. A woman who still thanks God for everything she has, and everything she doesn't. A woman who knows that everything happens for a reason - everything we go through is some kind of lesson - everything we go through are moments that make up our lives. The lives we are meant to be living. The lives given to us by God.
Faith gets me through this illness. This illness gave me back my faith. It just took me a while to realise it. I will still advocate for FM, I will still raise awareness for FM. I will still help others diagnosed with FM and those who haven't been diagnosed yet. The difference is though, that now I will do it with confidence. I will now do it with Faith.
