I am scared.
So scared.

Fibro will be the death of me.

Today it was hell - with flames, tears and screams. Dunno what to do anymore.

There’s only hunger games books. I can read just one phrase and be ok. I can read about peeta and hope someone like him really exist , someone that can love me really even with fibromyalgia.

I think I can be happy. The last month has been so difficult, one of the most difficult periods since fibro started.

But I got little improvements that are so small but at the same times, so great. I can go to the cinema without hoping it to finish after ten minutes because of the endless pain in my back and legs.

I can go out a Saturday night with friends. Just once a month. It’s so much to me. Being up after 9.00 p.m was so painful and now I can do it, even if just for one time.

I can read again for hours, laying in my bed, concentrate and in love with a simple story , without fuckin fibro stupid fog.

I can smile really sometimes. It is so small but it feels so good.

my rheumatologist is an amazing person. one real doctor, one that listens to his patients problems and who knows fibromyalgia. he listened to me and believed in my words, in the reasons why to me london is home - and why when I’m there, fibromyalgia doesn’t win.

This is a real doctor.

My teacher compared chronic pain to a stupid inconvenient. Like it’s something that happens, one little stupid thing.

This is absurd. Why the hell people are so ignorant?

May 12th is fibromyalgia awareness day. A day where we should make people understand what we have to go through every single day, the amount of pain we live with and the despair that is consequential of it. But should that be a good day?

I won’t forget how people treat me everyday. What they say to me. How they laugh when I cannot walk or I cry because of the pain. Should I forget all this?

Should I forget the shame? Should I forget the hunger, the words I’ve been told for four years?

How my teachers treat me or when my teacher of psychology defined me mentally ill?

Should forget about my father and his terrible words? About the laughs of my classmates?

Or my relatives when they say - stop it. you’re a liar. have you never thought about psychological damage?

We should make people understand what fibro is, but I think fist, I need people to understand that I’m still a person and I deserve to be treated like one.

I don’t want to forget this. All this made me strong. May 12 will be for me, to make me remind what I went through and what I will have to go through for the rest of my life.

I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe.

Sometimes I ask how somebody could love me. It’s not because of who I am, but because of her.
I cannot even walk properly. I hobble most of the times. How can you go out, walk with him, with his hand in yours, limping?
I don’t breathe properly. There are so many times a day where I need air and I panic because I cannot breathe.
Thinking about all the things of love of life, like nights together, walks, trips and day by day journeys. How could somebody..? How could somebody love me?

1.24 a.m. I think I’m gonna cry now. In silence, under the blankets, with my eyes closed and my arms around my legs, praying the pain to stop. It won’t stop but I’ll pray anyway because it’s the only thing I’ve left.

I sometimes ask myself what I did, if I did something dreadful to deserve hell every single second of my life. I wonder.