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The Many Creative Ways I Describe My Fibromyalgia


For me, fibromyalgia feels like…

You got a thousand tetanus shots all over your body, and now it’s the next day.

You ran the New York City Marathon without one day of training, in heels, and drank Rosé at every pit stop.

You have the flu. To be more specific, now it’s day two of the flu, and now you know it’s the flu and it’s kicking your ass from here to Timbuktu.

You fell down an escalator, but have no visible scratches or bruises. You just feel like you did and you just have a really messed up story to tell.

Your skin is on fire, literally, ablaze, and you don’t understand why everything you are wearing hurts. Even if it’s just your birthday suit.

Your body is being squeezed and pulled simultaneously like your insides are too big for your skin to contain, but this isn’t a break into dance and show your stuff kinda thing. No, it is not.

The first time you ever went ice skating and thought, “This is a piece of cake!” Then you woke up the next day as if you had spent the day in contortionist school wondering why even your ass cheeks hurt.

Your first hangover times one million.

Holding anything is impossible – a purse, a thought, a conversation. It all goes to hell because all you can concentrate on is the pain it takes to interact.

It’s hopeless. The pain is something that makes you feel that way, then your body responds and makes you feel the same damn way.

You were in a boxing match with a guy and a bag of oranges, and they won.

Time slows down when it really hits, as if the pain and your body, must acknowledge it to its full capacity. It’s tiring, exhausting and depressing.

Things won’t ever be the same or normal. You will always have to think about your disease, to plan things explicitly, to learn to sit things out, and accept the disappointment of others.

That’s what fibromyalgia feels like to me – what’s it like for you?

Getty Image by skyNext