coffeebarconfessions

A couple of my husband's young, hip co-workers informed him of a crucial shift in the "coolness" of social media. Basically, Facebook is dead and Instagram is where it's at. I filed this information in the way back recesses of my brain, and went about my life. The love/hate relationship I hold with Facebook hardly inspired me to invest my time and energy in a whole new facet of internet networking. Then I got bored one night a few weeks back, and decided I wanted to be young, hip and cool. So I started an Instagram account. After a few days of trolling through random pictures and catchy slogans I got it. For a girl who can hardly stand Facebook, and is utterly done with being bitched out for every innocuous comment I had the audacity to post, Instagram is an inherently more positive and rewarding experience. Within a matter of days I was hooked. I decided not to use this new forum as a way to promote Fibromyalgia awareness or keep up with friends and family, although ...

When I started this blog nobody read it. I wrote for four or five months without giving the link to a single soul. Just publishing it alone was an outrageously ambitious endeavor for a girl as private as I. The thought of anybody actually reading my inner agony sitting here on the world wide web was utterly mortifying. Then I almost died, and the treatment to cure my disease consisted of legalized meth, AKA high-dose Prednisone. So high as a crack-head I set out to let anyone who was interested know just how horrible Fibromyalgia was, a disease I suffered from for the previous five years and was struggling to rebuild my life around. Woo hoo, was I high on the fellowship of social media! The feedback was incredible, and planted an ember of passion in my soul to do something about the horrible reality far too many Fibromyalgia patients endure. By the time I was coming off the dragon-drug six months later people were reading. Clearly I started something, but exactly what I still ...