Sunday 24th April - Easter Sunday and depressed

Yesterday I woke early and had things going through my head about having Fibro so I wrote them down and eventually formed this poem:

Fibromyalgia – Prison sentence of pain

I didn’t ask for this, why did it choose me?

But now I have it, why can’t people see

The pain I feel is etched upon my face?

But of it they seem to see no trace.

To me it is obvious, all-encompassing and severe,

To them; “Oh yes, I get aches too dear”.

After a list of their minor aches and pains,

How do I then find the energy to explain?

The exhaustion that makes you tired before you’re even out of bed,

The way the Fibro messes with your head.

The pain that is there, daily, from top to toe,

No let up, no way to make it go.

The way some days I can barely walk,

And other days I can’t find the words to talk.

The way I have to plan everything I do,

Because if you do too much Fibro bites back at you.

Too much exertion means the next day in bed,

Or dragging around limbs made of lead.

The way just going upstairs makes my legs fill with pain,

Then wobble and shake as I go down them again.

The depression I feel that this is now me forever,

The prison sentence of pain that will never get better.

The fear of how much worse it could get,

A wheelchair? Housebound? I don’t know yet.

If I am lucky I won’t get much worse,

But even so it is still a curse,

To know that I can’t do the simplest of things,

Like ironing or gardening or emptying the bins,

Without forward planning and lots of breaks,

Which quadruples the time it used to take,

To try to avoid being struck by pain,

That will force me to be bed-bound again.

To have to refuse things I’d like to do,

Because I can’t manage it, is upsetting too.

How I wish I could go back to how I used to be,

Little did I know then what was waiting for me.

If I had known I would have done more,

Had children, got married, had a career I adore.

Now, for me, all those dreams lie in tatters,

And because of that my heart just feels battered.

But the ability and energy just isn’t there,

My body’s in pain just washing my hair.

Just getting your way through each day is a chore,

So there is no way for the things I hoped for.

So if people curse me and say I’m a quitter,

Make sure you tell them that you know me better,

Because you’ve read this poem and have the insight,

As to how having Fibro can change someone’s life.

And if they don’t believe you, tell them again,

That no-one would want this prison sentence of pain.

I have posted it on Facebook in the hope that my friends will read it and maybe understand more about what I am going through but so far out of 280 friends only 3 have commented so I guess only 3 have taken the time to read it which makes me very depressed.