Ménage à trois… ou quatre.

I share my bed with three companions. More specifically, I share my bed with the love of my life and two companions I fucking hate! I can’t avoid it. I have no choice. The only one I can kick out of bed is the one I love. So yeah… that’s not gonna happen!

So let me introduce you to my two unavoidable bastards, Fibromyalgia and Depression. Fibromyalgia hurts me…  all the time for no apparent reason and with no warning. Depression won’t leave me alone; it delights in waiting for quiet moments to come over and remind me of how horrible everything is and how much I suck.

How there’s any room for my poor beloved manbeast in such a crowded bed or why he even still wants to get in it after 25 years is beyond me. Oh look! Depression just stepped up to make sure I tell you I feel undeserving of love. Woohoo!

Let me paint you a picture.

It’s early morning. The sound of birds outside brings you back from the blissful world of dreams. A soft smile on your lips lingers as memories of good dreams slowly ebb away.

Your eyes burst open as reality slams into focus; a sharp pain steals your breath. You gasp. You shift slowly, trying not to make the pain worse. Slowly you recognize the familiar pain. It’s Fibromyalgia. Right there, as always, it will never let you forget its presence.

You stir a bit, Fibro purrs in sleepy delight. he’s ready to get the day started. He smiles contentedly as you struggle to unfold, unbend, untangle yourself from Fibro… who is lying comfortably under you.

There you are, tangled up and bent. To anyone who looks at you, you look like you’re simply lying in bed, alone. You smile at the manbeast through half open eyes. Your eyeballs are on fire, one lid feels like there is sand underneath it. It feels like a small animal crawled into your mouth and died overnight.

So you begin the slow and painful process of getting your ass out of bed. 22ºC is a lovely temperature to sleep; it’s warm enough to be comfortable without triggering massive hot flashes in the middle of the night. But when you live with Fibro and wake up and have to find the courage to push the covers off of yourself, you realize that 22ºC feels a lot like -22ºC. You breathe in, gather up your courage, push the covers off and you’re hit with a wall of biting cold. You struggle to grab the clothes your manbeast has been kind enough to lay out for you, right next to you on the bed. You shake and flinch as you get dressed. Oh the profound joy of putting socks on and feeling warm again! Failure to put on socks or slippers before getting out of bed results in what, I am sure, is what electrocution feels like. This also generally ends in wailing, flailing and falling back, panting, into bed, cursing the Gods to such an extent that you need to invent new ones so you don’t run out before you’re done expressing your frustration and pain.

Depression sits on your head and farts then pushes you out of bed so he can sleep away the day until he is needed again. Fibro laughs hysterically and rams his elbow into your ribs.

So you’re exhausted. You spend all day dreaming of the sweet moment your head will hit the pillow.

The moment comes; at high cost. You lay down, you close your eyes, you breathe… erratically, your eyes pop open, you begin to ponder the meaning of life while your left foot’s baby toe starts to ache for no reason. You look down, Fibro is biting it, grinning at you like a Cheshire Cat, never letting go of your toe. You close your eyes, try to quiet your mind, try to focus on good things. Happy thoughts. Happy memories…

Depression gently taps Fibro on the shoulder. Fibro obligingly allows Depression to pass and stand beside you. Depression leans down and whispers:

“It wasn’t such a bad day, there was only that moment when your hip gave out and you fell on your ass in the middle of Wal-Mart and everyone was staring.”

He sits on your back.

“You know… I’m pretty sure everyone you meet finds you annoying anyway so they won’t care that you looked like a ridiculous crumpled muppet.”

He lays down on top of you.

“Do you remember all those times your mother told you your problems were making her life difficult?”

You feel all his weight upon you. You try to sleep. You feel a sharp pain in your hip; Fibro has climbed up on top of Depression’s ass where he is now sitting cross-legged and cheerfully bouncing as he plans out the next day’s events.

You know what? You can keep your ménage à trois fantasies. Reality is more than I can handle.

 

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One Comment Add yours

  1. haengjin says:

    :* You are well loved for being a smart, funny and beautiful person. Nothing can change that, not Fibro nor Depression. *Virtually hugs you while punching Fibro and Depression in the face… with a chair*

    Like

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