It’s not about living anymore, it’s about surviving. I’m dying on the inside, and it has to stop. My grandmother always used to say “tell the truth and shame the devil.” So I guess it’s time to shame that arcane, evil bastard.

I wish, just for once, I would allow this inferno of a pressure cooker inside me to just explode, gushing out a scalding geyser of everything that’s making life pretty helpless, painful and empty, in a glorious maniacal onslaught. I wish I could tell you what a shitty existence I feel I’ve fallen into, through no fault of my own, and how deeply and unavoidably unhappy I currently am. I wish I didn’t have to hide this disease, often for the preservation of others, often to appear normal and healthy on the outside. I wish I wasn’t so good at applying and wearing undetectable makeup with the only purpose of giving me the appearance of health and glowing vitality. I wish I saw a bright future ahead of me, with exciting adventures to seize with unquestioning, open arms. I wish I didn’t often see potential love – and even the world – casually pass me by. I wish I didn’t crave the love of ‘one’ so intensely. I wish I wasn’t alone. I wish I didn’t daydream about a life with my very own beautiful children, only to shed many a tear over the children I will never have; that’s one of the things that hurts me the most deeply of all.

I wish I could grab a bag and run out of the house at five minutes notice because a friend surprised me with a weekend away or just for a perfectly spontaneous dinner date. I wish I didn’t promise to join friends when I’m invited to do something incredible & life-changing, or just invited do something wonderfully everyday, like going to the shops and laughing at silly things. Or being asked to travel the globe and feel the sand between my toes… because at that very point they asked me to join them, I knew I had already broken my promise before I even said yes; because as naïve as I am, I always believed there was hope, and I might be strong enough/well enough to make it, maybe next week or in a month or two. In reality, that’s rarely the case. Hope now seems more akin to a malevolent entity, or a cruel mistress. Now, joyful excitement feels too much like fear.

There’s more, so much more I could say. However, I can’t; doing so, in my naked and raw truth, and to completely lay oneself bare, is an impossibly. In doing so, I would alienate the few friends I have left, because nobody wants to hear that, and really, no one should. So I censor my self-pitying self and psyche, so not to rock the boat, to keep things nice and neat and sterile and reliable, as its always been. Heaven forbid I might appear a weirdo, a freak, a depressing force that will only drag you down. I can’t post certain ‘arty’ photos I take, because some find them uncomfortable and read too much into them… and then ask me if I feel suicidal, which I do not. If art provokes an emotional response, even if that response makes one uncomfortable, doesn’t that mean the art is doing its job? Anyway, isn’t that a little irrelevant? Think about it.

There’s very little left of me these days – even I miss the old me. I’m dying on the inside, and I’m so desperate to live again. Despite my all the shattered pieces and shards of razor sharp glass strewn at my feet, I still have so much love to give, and to give freely, unconditionally. This existence has to stop. My worry is that there might only be a handful of straws left, and my back might already be too weak…

A Short Jaunt

After my medical stuff was sorted, today we made a trip to Penarth and the Cardiff Bay Barrage. Pictured above are;

– circular art installation on the Cardiff Bay barrage which only becomes visible at one stage;
– a plaque explains Weston is just across the water;
– a view towards Flat Holme and Steep Holme Islands on the Bristol Channel;
– a view over Cardiff Bay from St. Augustine’s Church, Penarth;
– country lane journey home.

jayneysgotagun:

It’s Fibromyalgia/ M.E and chronic fatigue syndrome awareness day! I hope you all have a low pain day, remember even the smallest thing you do today to help raise awareness makes a difference. Even if you just wear something purple, post a status, tell someone what fibro/me/cfs is and how it affects you or you could just share any of the photo’s I post on here today to your friends
The bigger the audience who see them the more awareness we raise 😀

This is Paul Harrison on living with Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. He’s been living with these invisible diseases for 20 years. I’ve been living with them for about 12 years. I cannot believe how similar our stories are. It’s rare for men to have these illnesses; yet it’s so strange how almost perfectly his story mirrors mine. I’ve been planning to do my own video on living with CFS/Fibro for months but I haven’t had the time, energy, motivation or confidence to bare my soul to the world as Paul does so courageously. I think I will record my experiences one day soon, but in the meantime, please listen to his words until the very end. They will give you an insight into my life – and his – until I record my own experiences. Thank You Paul, so very much.

Here’s an update to his first video:
http://youtu.be/lH7NafrC7RQ