I've been wondering whether to share this for the last week now. About two years ago I promised all my friends and family that I was going to be more open about my medical struggles both physical and mental, because the stigma around mental health and invisible illness can only be overcome by people openly talking about it. I don't talk about everything all the time, because my struggles are not all that I am. I'm a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a friend, a colleague, a historian, a tea enthusiast and much more before I am my medical issues. But that doesn't mean that my medical issues don't have an impact on my life when I'm not talking about them. I struggle every day, but sometimes it's obvious which days I'm struggling more than others.
So here goes nothing.
Earlier this year, after having a resurgence of some very intense panic attacks, frequent faints that landed me in hospital overnight getting my heart checked, nightmares, and very horrible flashbacks to a bad situation I was in a few years ago, I decided to seek help. I was eventually diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) which was a relief, to be quite frank. The waiting for counselling has been horrendous and the fear of going out coupled with the frequent fainting only recently abated, which has had an impact on my ability to attend my degree course and work.
Fast forward to last Friday, where a flare up of pain left me in bed crying in agony. My mum encouraged me to go to the doctors as it has been over 10 years of me complaining of back pain and a myriad of other incapacitating symptoms that also impact my ability to work and get on with my education. I politely but firmly told my GP I was fed up of the pain and after so many invasive tests not knowing what was quite clearly wrong with my body. He eventually - after 10 years of investigating and debilitating pain - was able to tell me that he was very certain that I had fibromyalgia; a chronic illness that causes widespread pain, fatigue, pins and needles or numbness in the limbs, amongst other symptoms. Although I am happy that I finally know what is wrong with me, I am also sad. Some may ask why I could be sad at finally knowing the cause. But all these years I have held onto the hope that I would one day be better and not have to deal with the pain and constant tiredness, that I wouldn't worry about going to bed one night feeling fine and waking up immobile and in agony the next. I hoped that I would never have to take pain medications on a regular basis again, I hoped that I might never have to use crutches to support my legs again. But fibromyalgia is a chronic illness with no cure, and while I'm glad to know what I'm dealing with now, I'm mourning the loss of hope that I would be magically cured. Which, coupled with finding out I'm hypermobile last year, which causes extra stress on my joints as they're a bit too bendy, has all been a bit much.
Experiencing PTSD the way I have this year, and coming to terms with the fibromyalgia diagnosis has been hard. I didn't know what to expect in 2019 but this definitely wasn't it. The only good thing to come out of these diagnoses though is that I'm determined not to let my anxiety, the PTSD, the hypermobility or the fibromyalgia ruin my life or stop me achieving anything I set my mind to. I know my body's limits, and I will 100% try to respect them, but not at the cost of having a happy and productive life.
