a short note to fibro

Dear Fibro:

Drop Dead.

Yours truly,

anonymous

Ditto!

LOL!!! oh yes, I'll sign that one too!

Thanks so much for the smile :D

dear fibro,
go away bad dream
Lee Ann

Dear Fibro,
You think your so great. I bet you can't stand it that I get up everyday and fight your stupid ***! Don't ever let me get my hands on you because you will wish you were never born!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A letter to fibro! What a great idea!

Dear fibro,
I don't know what you are or how you got here. In fact, my doctors don't seem to know either. Many people don't even think you're real. But whatever you are and however you got here, you've ruined my life. Just a short year ago I was on top of the world and at the pinnacle of my career. I had energy to burn - from 6 am to midnight every day. I multi-tasked and multi-visioned and multi-dreamed. I worked 50 hours a week at my job and in my spare time I wrote. I loved my writing, I made money from it, I published my first book. I also cleaned my house, trained my dog for competition, and made beautiful meals for my family. Now I am a shell of my former self. I get up in the morning and go to work for four hours. This is all while doped up on Tramacet for pain. By 1 pm the pain is too bad, and the fatigue is overwhelming. I cannot think - I cannot put together a coherent sentence either aloud or in writing. I can only go home and lay in bed with my laptop. Instead of writing books about how people can make a difference in the world, and about personal leadership and emotional health, I can only write short passages like this one on the computer. I have no energy for my hobby and interest, no energy to even walk my dog, no possible way to make dinner anymore - someone has to do that for me. I sit and watch while someone else cleans my house two days a week.
In short, I feel like my life is over - and it's all your fault. You have come into what was a beautiful life of dedication - to making the world a better place - and you have robbed me of my ability to do anything but sit in a chair and watch TV. This was something I vowed I would never do. Others talked of retirement. I never wanted to retire. All I ever wanted was to retire from ministry so I could move on and do something else - perhaps more meaningful - like public speaking, leading workshops, writing for national magazines and doing television spots. You have stolen all this from me. And not only from me, but from all the people I could have helped. I hate you.
I hate you the way I hated breast cancer 12 years ago, which is to say that although I hate you with a deep, gut-wrenching passion, I may also come to embrace you one day. Give me some time. Time for me to grieve the loss of my health - to be angry, to be sickeningly sad, to bargain with God, to be in denial. And after that time and that process, I may come to accept you as part of my life. I may come to accept you and embrace you as the thing that got me to stop this crazy overachievement and overfunctioning self. To slow it down, at least and take a step back to exhale. Perhaps you will be the one to teach me that I have already left a legacy on this earth, even if my book never did get marketed and distributed the way I had hoped. Perhaps you are the thing that will teach me to believe what I wrote in those pages and the picture I put on the cover....that it only takes one small stone dropped in the pond to send out ripples to every shore. One person who reads my book in my local library fifty years from now may change the world forever. What I need to do is to trust God and remind myself that I am not the Messiah, the Savior of the world. Even as I write this, dear fibro, I thank you for that. I hate it, and thus I hate you, but it is true nevertheless and you are the one reminding me of it just now.
So at this moment, for the sake of this letter, I hate you and I want you to go away and I want my old life back. If only I could have it back for just ONE DAY, just one day, O how happy I would be on that day! But alas, the world only spins forward. And we can never look back. We can only hope for "holy hindsight" at some new day far in the future...the day when we look back at today and say, "thank you".
Sincerely,
Anna

Dear Fibro,

You've done a number on me.

Everything you've touched, you've messed up.

You're fired.

Sincerely,

My Body

thanks, SleepyBug...I just wrote it from my heart. It was a healing thing to do so...I'm thankful to this forum!