Hey. My name is Felix. I’m twenty-one years old and I made this blog a few months back in a moment of trying to force myself to do something productive. I used to be fairly active in the writing community. I did poetry. About three years ago, my bipolar disorder went into full-blown temper tantrum mode and threw non-stop episodes at me. I wouldn’t hesitate to say these were some of the worst in my life. Suffice to say, writing took a back seat during this time. Then, during a hospitalization in early January, I eventually managed to level myself out. My lithium had finally taken effect and reached a therapeutic dose, and the hospital I was at actually gave enough of a damn to try to teach us all some coping mechanisms.
During my last hospitalization, I started getting a nagging back pain. At first, I could deal with it, though as time went on, I started asking about painkillers and needing a little more help to do everyday things. During doctors appointments they’d repeatedly poke and prod me, bend this way, bend that, and eventually said nothing was wrong, handed me my fairly strong painkillers for ‘nothing wrong’, and that was that.
In February, I moved into my own place and ‘nothing wrong’ very quickly became ‘something is very wrong’. My energy levels crashed, as did my mobility, and my pain spiked. I very quickly became bed-bound. I was no longer able to prepare food or do daily tasks, so I needed carers to help out around the house and make me food, else I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t do…well, anything really. A couple of 999 calls were made, several more to 111, and social services agreed to send out carers daily and provide accessibility and mobility equipment. Still, as long as I was in that doctor’s office, there remained ‘nothing wrong’. Bloodworks clear aside from a vitamin D deficiency, no sign of spinal damage, but this did not change the fact that my life didn’t really exist at that time, and I was in constant pain. I’d gone from the kind of person who’d have shot off to Brighton at a moment’s notice and gain a string of A grades and publications, to needing someone to push my wheelchair, make my food, who couldn’t make it even the five metres to the toilet sometimes.
So I’m starting this blog now. It seems like a good time. The other week I went from ‘nothing wrong’ to fibromyalgia and ME. I have a feeling most spoonies spent a while having ‘nothing wrong’. I’m starting to get appointments now that the rheumatologist did what my doctor’s surgery wouldn’t do and made referrals. Pain clinic, physiotherapist, psychologist. I’ve learnt enough by now to know that expecting any life-changing help would be naïve. But I’ll take what I can get.
This means pretty much all my plans in life are no longer possible. Before this I was pretty certain about the ME, but that can be recovered from. The people around me spent all their time talking about when I was better, and I’d got my hopes up that I was going to recover. With the addition of fibro, I’ve been forced to consider that I might never get better. And I need to prepare for that so I’m not living every day waiting for the next in the hope that’ll be the day things go back to how they used to be. Some changes are minor irritations, like a friend changed the time you were going to met up. Some changes are, well, life-changing. Things aren’t going to be the same. I’m gonna have to do some serious thinking about what I want from life and more importantly, what I am able to do. At the moment there seems to be very little overlap between these two things. But this is my adjustment period. I think I’m just about finishing up with mourning my past self. This is my new self. It isn’t great, but it’s all I’ve got.