coffeebarconfessions

Last week I lowered my life-changing expectations to what I felt was moderate. The goal was to maintain some of the good habits I tried to adapt with sweeping precision a few weeks before. I tried, I really did, to hang in there. Made the bed every day, got up early to exercise a couple of times, cooked dinner every night. Things in my right mind I believe should already be happening. By Thursday I was a complete wreck. I couldn't sleep the night before so didn't wake up until 9am. It was 91 degrees outside. Thinking I could sneak in a quick walk before the heat became stifling we scurried around the block. I even came home and did yoga. Boy was I draggin', but when I went to bathe I couldn't because the water had been shut off. A broken pipe sorely lacking in prior notice. So I kinda freaked out and became negative and cross. I mean I was already on the border, but this pushed me into full-on grouchy. After brushing my teeth and washing my face with bottled water I att

Hearken the good tidings my friends, they have found the cause of Fibromyalgia! With rapt interest I poured over the scientific studies and research papers to try and understand what had been discovered. Most of them seemed to start with the disclaimer that a large portion of the medical community believe Fibromyalgia is psychosomatic. Until now.  I'm not going to lie, t hat pissed me off pretty good. Like now that they "know" there is something real going on they can admit they thought we were all a bunch of loonies inflicting sick on ourselves. But I suppose I knew that would happen... I am still excited to find out what exactly descended on my reality like a hell-storm eight years ago and stole my life so I kept reading. Turns out it all goes back to...the blood vessels in my palms? Huh? Are you kidding me? Blood vessels in my hands are responsible for fatigue, insomnia, a depressed immune system and pain so profound I wanted to die? I'm sorry, but it seemed so unb

It hit. The colossal flare I knew in the back of my mind I was marching toward but somehow thought a positive attitude could prevent. See I did it again. I've done it lots of times. Convinced myself my behavior causes direct consequence to my health. To a small degree it does, but in actuality it's resoundingly the other way around. I do think it's normal to question "living sick" every so often by challenging the status quo. Normal, even if the outcome is terribly devastating to any sense of progress a person tries to make. So here I sit all pissed off and bent out of shape I because I am being horribly punished for... trying to improve my life. The absurdity makes me so angry at this stage in my journey. Real, normal, healthy life is just out of my grasp, a feather's whisper away from my reach. It mine as well be miles, though. Closing the gap on living sick and living like a human being with chronic illness is a long and arduous road. Some days I don't