It's been two months since I am officially diagnosed with depression and anxiety. 10 years since I first felt them.
It's been a month since my family and I figured out I probably have fibromyalgia. Years since I've first lived with pain.
Pain and agony has always been my company, but love has always been my refuge. Both times I feel pain and I feel joy, I cry. The moments I feel tired and I feel infinite, I think. The years I suffered and I triumphed, I celebrate. I am a human who has felt both the dichotomy and the 'oneness' of life. I am like everyone else - a work-in-progress.
But I've been struggling with accepting that I am chronically ill. I was in denial. I wanted answers to my questions. To me, I've had enough bullshit and issues for this lifetime. I am so tempted to give up because I am tired - very tired, and very weary. I've been fighting with everything that I am but it seems like it is not enough. I am still ill. Still with limitations. Still "not normal".
Yet now, I feel myself softly warming, carefully hoping, and slowly opening. I am very tired, yes, but I can wonder. I can dream. I can still fly.
