Category is: Love yourself

Well then, its been another wee while since I had the urge to waffle away here for a bit. Aren’t you lucky, the urge struck again…….

I posted some pictures of myself, selfies to be exact to Instagram yesterday because I was feeling pretty good about myself. And it got me to thinking.

What would others think, the cheek of me posting a few selfies because I was feeling good. Would others think it arrogant, big headed, narcissistic even? And then, I thought. Fuck that! I feel great, I’ve lost some weight, I can see my cheek bones again and I’m loving my pink hair. Why shouldn’t I shout that from the rooftops? Well, Instagram but you know what I mean.

The realisation that it’s no one else’s job to like me, it’s my job; took me a very long time. I constantly craved love and needed validation. That inevitably came from the wrong places and ultimately made my insecurities a hundred times worse in the long run. All of this from teenage years really meant I ended up in doomed relationships because I was seeking something that only I could give myself but I disliked myself so intensely, I had no idea where or how to begin.

Of course, I tried to fake that confidence and had years of hiding horrific paranoia and a crippling lack of self confidence. I would pick away at every minute detail about myself and spent many many years despising my body, my face, my personality and anything else about myself that I could hate on. I was incredibly angry all the damn time.

There were toxic partners and friends and sometimes because of my own self loathing, I would be the toxic one. That’s a hard one to take on but it is the truth and something to live with. Not to obsess over but to acknowledge definitely. And each time a relationship failed for whatever reason, it would all just feel worse. This never ending feeling of mental free fall but trying with everything you have to hold on for dear life. Absolutely fucking exhausting stuff.

I have never been glad or happy that my body finally gave up and I became physically ill. That’s a ridiculous notion and I absolutely fucking hate the limitations that brought with it. For a while, that made everything a hundred times worse because then everything fell apart and I lost all purpose to life; or that’s what it felt like at the time. Now though, looking back it was a ridiculously fucked up blessing in disguise. Approximately 3 years ago, the road to recovery began. Now, when you already hate yourself and you get ill and you can’t get out of bed and you pile on a huge amount of weight. It’s a difficult feeling to describe. Please do not think for a single second that I’m piling in to any fat shaming, this was purely personal and selfish. Just another reason to beat myself up.

I felt sorry for myself and I wallowed for a bit. I think that when you feel that bad, you have to sit with it and feel it. Otherwise how do you ever hit rock bottom and try to figure out a way back up? Rock bottom is just that, absolute suffocating hopelessness and then something changes and you can begin to get some kind of distant light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. For me, as I’ve mentioned many times in these posts. That very first glimmer of light was therapy that I could actually understand and begin responding to.

None of that initial therapy was aimed at loving myself. When you’re in crisis, you just need to stabilise yourself first and foremost. Later in my second round of therapy, I learned that my constant bashing of myself was like beating someone physically all day every day and by that time I’d been doing it for so long I wasn’t entirely aware of how bad it was.

Learning to be kinder to yourself is an awkward process. When something is so alien to you, you feel daft taking part in the therapy tasks. Every part of your daily routine has to be looked at. My inner commentary was stuck on some stern school mistress and not the kinky kind!

Anyway, I’m rambling a bit but what I’m trying to get to the point of is when you feel that rubbish and you finally manage to get your head down and put in the work. Ride the roller-coaster of ups and downs, false starts, set backs, flare ups and the rest of the ridiculous shit that actually happens. Then wee miracles begin to happen.
Don’t by any means think that means I love myself every damn day, that’d just be really creepy. Of course, I still have days where I hate my body and how difficult I find it to lose weight. I still give myself a hard time about ridiculous things as well as the real things that I should be giving myself a pep talk about. Loving yourself doesn’t mean you just ignore the stuff that needs some stern talking. It’s knowing when you need to try and be kind and gentle to yourself and when you need to give yourself a good kick up the arse. It’s about stopping comparing yourself to others, living with yourself and making choices just for you, deciding on a way forward and quietly making that work, taking selfies and posting to the world that you feel good that day! Maybe not just falling in love with yourself but falling in love with the life you are creating.
Ultimately doing you unapologetically and deliberately and loving it.

Peace and love 💜

P. S Just know that I’ll have made someone close read this before posting to make sure it’s OK! So don’t let me fool you that I’m absolutely totally in love with me 😉

Slowly but surely

I havent felt the need to write for a while, as I said before. I’ve been happy to be quietly working away on both my physical and mental health.

But it’s World Suicide Prevention day and it’s worth chipping my 2 bob in.

Since I first became ill, the conversation around mental health has greatly improved. On the surface. But truth be told, I still hear friends and folk around me speak about it in a derogatory manner. It’s still not a relevant or real enough reason to be off work. There’s still that stigma of ‘oh, they’re mental’ often whispered behind the back of those involved.

But, I can guarantee you that those who have chosen to face up to and deal with their mental health are some of the strongest motherfuckers around.

If you look at social media, there’s this toxic positivity plastered everywhere. Just think positively, just do this, just do that. And believe me when I say, if it was as easy as that. We’d all be dancing round farting fairy dust.

But, it isn’t. Even mild to moderate anxiety or depression has you believing a whole load of bullshit that simply isn’t true. Even if you can bring yourself to logically know this, sometimes you just can’t pull yourself out of the spiral. And if that completely spirals, then suicidal thoughts or ideation are not a far fetched idea. It isn’t attention seeking or dramatic, sometimes it really is the idea of silencing the endless noise going on in your head.

Those toxic social media posts would have you believe that facing up to and trying to heal yourself is some rainbow filled spiritual awakening when in reality its a dirty fucking fight. Some days you win, some days you don’t. The important thing is to try and keep going. Keep getting back on that proverbial horse until it starts to get easier bit by bit. It gets worse before it gets better and it’s never going to disappear completely but it’s definitely worth the fight.

I implore anyone struggling to seek out the help they need. I have been so very lucky to have had the therapy I’ve needed to enable my life to get back to some semblance of normal, or as normal as I want to be!

For friends and family of people suffering, read up too. There’s sometimes nothing you can do but simply being there and not judging is a huge thing in itself. Waiting lists are long and that support is invaluable. Believe me people who are suffering will behave weirdly, badly, outrageously but they still need your love and support. My support network has been invaluable in very dark days as well as the good.

There are times when I’ve thought I’m not coming back from the edge but I have. Please hold on, it will get better.

Even for myself, its only been recently that I’ve been completely open and honest about the struggle, the years of unhealthy coping mechanisms and the unnecessary hurt to myself and those I love. But every day gets better and if I can do it, then anyone can.

Please stop treating those around you who are struggling like pariah, a bit of kindness and understanding goes a very long way.

2 people in Scotland take their own life every day and that is just too fucking much. Come on people, we are better than this. People who are struggling will more than likely not be able to reach out. Please please reach out to your friends and family that you know are struggling, you might just make the difference between the unthinkable or not.

Peace and love 💜

Eye of the Tiger

At New Year I told you all that I was going to try and just get on with things quietly, with my head down. How the fuck did it get to November?

Today I was discharged from this round of therapy. What a weird wee feeling; am I fixed? Am I really not mental any more? Is my diagnosis of complex PTSD ( still real/ relevant?

When I got in the car after my final session, the first thing that came on the car radio was The Rocky theme; Eye of the Tiger. I laughed out loud but…….

As always its been a real roller coaster of a year. Thankfully this 6 month block of therapy has been all about stabilising myself. And man, I needed it.

So, a wee update on the bad soap opera that’s the Life and times of Campbell. I’ve debated with myself on how open to be and I’ll write what I can. I’m guilty of oversharing but I’m aware of that and why now!

I finally understand that healing is never going to be a linear thing. It’s bewildering, hard work, lonely and intense.

Its also hugely inspiring, motivating and liberating at the same time. The very nature of it has some days, where I feel like I am Wonder Woman; yet the next day I struggle to motivate myself to shower.

This is OK, I know this now but it’s taken a long time to realise and even longer to accept. I still completely overdo it when I feel up to it and pay for it later. I know I’m not the only person who has chronic issues that has this cycle. But I absolutely have to have the busy times or I know I’d struggle even more when I’m gubbed and stuck in the house.

I’ve learned that the traumas of the past shouldn’t define me, yet I know that it’s more than OK to feel what I feel about them. One of my coping mechanisms has always been to try and ‘just get on with it’ and I have but at the expense of my mental and finally physical health.

The drink it, smoke it, snort it, fuck it, work it or ignore it method doesn’t work in the long run. You have lots of really unhealthy coping mechanisms and lots of stories but you’re still fucked in the head at the end of it. Every response, reaction and fear hightailing it directly from the past.

You have to face the wee fuckers that traumatised you, feel it all and acknowledge them. Then, (and I say this full of hope) you can heal and move on.

Or at least that’s the plan….

There’s always some curveball or other hanging about trying to trip you up. At times it really does feel like a losing battle; you still feel like a waste of space, that you have no purpose in the world because you have a condition that limits you in lots of ways, you still feel self hate; anxiety, crippling self consciousness.

I never felt good enough, pretty enough, slim enough, clever enough: the list goes on

And then

The therapy starts to kick in, and it’s this that has given me the tools to not just exist. Even on the days my physical health isn’t the best.

I’m more than enough and I am now able to not just not beat myself up every single day about absolutely everything. But actually have days when I think I’m quite a bit of alright!

For me, it’s all about routine. Using that unhealthy control freak for something useful, to try and be organised. To set up healthy daily habits and stick to them. I really had to go back to basics, but it’s really helped. But in all this, the key is to be kind to yourself. Even if you fall off the wagon for a day; it’s OK, you can get right back on it. Without your inner commentary getting irate!

I’m not perfect, not a single person on this planet is. I’ve fucked up; sometimes to the expense of people and things precious to me. But you know what, I get up and try every single day. Even on the days when I want to hide from the world. I’m not the only person who has things they are embarrassed or ashamed of. But at the end of the day, I can be accountable without whatever it is comsuming me. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t been a fanny at some point……

Being able to shake my head and laugh at myself is a good feeling to have. I’m fundamentally not going to change, I’m still absolutely ridiculous at times but that’s me. How I think about it all couldn’t be more different than before (most of the time).

I know the difference between the fibromyalgia kicking my arse and my head trying to.

It’s then that my wee routine is most important to me. Instead of worrying myself sick about what anyone else might think, I can now take stock and get on with my day.

Who gives a flying fuck what other people think, until anyone is in your shoes and your life with your memories. Then they can take any judgement elsewhere. As clichéd and cheesy as it sounds. If everyone were just a bit kinder and less judgemental then we would all be a wee bit happier I think.

All the lessons that we are taught. That we have to have x, y and z and have to be killing ourselves in order to make a living. How do we teach an entire planet that this is bullshit.

Before you all roll your eyes at my hippy dippy chat, think about it.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my job but the expectation is that you will automatically give your pound of flesh. Why?

So that 20 years down the line you can burn out and not enjoy the rest of it?

I’m not naive to think that money isn’t helpful to live but I definitely see where I made mistakes in my beliefs so far.

I’m rambling on now but I suppose the moral of this year is drink enough water, meditate daily, move your body when you can, be kind, be accountable, be grateful and appreciate the wee things.

And then you have a chance of genuinely being happy.

Oh the wise words of a numpty hyped up on The Rocky Theme! 😂

Well….. what’s next?

Here it is, Hogmanay. The end of 2018 and the beginning of a new one. 2019, I made it.

There were times this year I was teetering so close to the edge, I thought I might not. How did I? No fucking idea! Keep on keeping on I guess.

But here I am and as I’ve written before, what a year.

In true Campbell style, I came home from India and straight into the infectious diseases unit. This was after a loonball thought we were all going to die and made my flight sit on the tarmac for over two hours. So it was quite the thirty hour journey home…..

I’m looking forward this year, there’s lots of good on the horizon and I’m determined to grab it all by the balls and give it my best shot. Let’s face it, it can’t be any worse than the last few.

Things are changing and that’s exciting. Really exciting. I’m not going to make any silly resolutions, I’m going to quietly keep doing my thing. Concentrate on my happiness and health and hope to fuck everything else falls in to place.

Onwards and upwards guys, onwards and upwards…..

Thankyou to my amazing family, the friends who have gone out of their way to help and support me in very dark days. And to those who judged, fell away or whatever. That’s sad but just life.

Right 2019, let’s have it!

Happy New Year to you all, see you on the other side ♥️


You’ve heard of ‘a wire brush and dettol?’ I think that would have been the gentle option!

Here I was all chirpy on Friday, despite the loo runs. Went for dinner in the Keralan restaurant and was excited because I was allowed daal and a black chickpea curry. On the way to have a treat (a real food treat) my legs started to get very painful and the energy literally drained from my body. I could barely hold myself up. By the time I got home, I felt like I was getting a proper flu. I was shaking, my temperature was high and I felt horrible.

Day 5

By the time the next morning rolled round, I’d not slept; I was burning up and the pain in my body had me in tears. Luckily Dr. Prem also lives next door to us so he was summoned first thing. After a check up, he went off to buy Ayurvedic medicine from town. My friend went to work and I was left thinking that maybe I might die at some point. Factor in to the equation that I’d been pooing and spewing every 15 mins or so since the night before and it was pretty much the Bollywood version of ‘The Exorcist!’

The last time the pain in my body was so severe, I ended up in hospital for a week having the proper big gun painkillers pumped in to me. As you can imagine, I was starting to panic slightly….

At some point, I thought my dog Zoe was there and then I broke my heart for half an hour when I realised she wasn’t (I’m such a dick) By the time Dr. Prem got back from town, I was in a terrible state. I took lots of Ayurvedic medicine, some of it looked like pebbles and god knows what else; but I’d have probably have eaten my own shit at that point if he had promised it would help. It’s all gotten a bit lost in the blur but some was to break my fever and the rest to help with the pain. I broke my heart again when he announced that these weren’t fast acting like Western drugs and would take their time to kick in.

The day went by in a blur of pain that was almost unbearable, sick, shit, snotters and tears. It’s safe to say I was at my very best last Saturday!

The Doc arrived every two hours to check me over, administer medication and then he heated a pan of oil and used crushed leaves wrapped in muslin. He dipped the muslin in the oil and gently massaged my back and legs. It was so comforting and actually gave me a bit of relief. So, yeah. That was Saturday…

I felt slightly better by Sunday morning but could feel a headache beginning, one of those ones that’s going to turn into a migraine if you don’t catch it. I didn’t make yoga but did manage to the hotel for my 10am treatment. I was delighted to find out it was the hot oil. After that, I wilted and had to go home to bed. A full on migraine descended and once again the Doc was summoned. I had plants rubbed into my head and eye and then had to steam over boiling plants. It helped slightly but not enough so the Doc made up a liquid and told me to drink it at 9:30pm. It did the trick and I was able to get some sleep.

This was a pretty horrific few days and I was close to the edge a few times, but, it passed and I got through the other side. I’m not sure who I was kidding when I thought detoxing 42 years of crap would be a walk in the park?

Anyway, I got back to yoga on Tuesday. Very gently but we’re getting into the swing of it again. My treatments all week have just been the hot oil; as suspected, they were only gentle until I was better. After that, it’s a vigorous rub down. Yes, I’ve got wee scorch marks on bits of my body!

I have a rest day day today, so had a wee lie in and now I’m not sure what to do with myself….

I mean, there’s no fags, booze or tasty food allowed so what does a girl do?

I’ll be by the pool in the meantime x

Eh, what’s up doc?

Yes, I know that looks like mud. Yes I have to drink it twice a day.

But before that….

It was ‘World mental health awareness day’ a couple of days ago. While I think that this is important in spreading awareness about the stigma that is mental health. I truly believe we should be striving every day to bring awareness in ending this stigma. Mental health issues affect nearly all of us at some point so why are these problems still brushed under the carpet and whispered about? Never mind the fact that the services in place to help, are hugely underfunded and resourced. Personally because I moved local authorities back into Glasgow, I had to go back to the beginning and am now in a waiting list of approximately 9 months. I know I really needed some help in August but unless you can afford to go privately or are in crisis; there’s not a lot of options available.

As I’ve already mentioned, I’m incredibly lucky with my friends and family but I’d rather keep my crazy for a professional rather than burden anyone else with the Pandora’s box that’s my wee head at times! I do, but I’d rather not…..

I know that coming from the West coast of Scotland, we are very much a people who get up dust their sorry ass off and get on with it. It’s expected to be made of strong stuff. Stoic, almost Calvinist in our make up.

Well, that’s a lot of shite! It’s ok to put things in boxes, but deal with them. Get them out the boxes. Talk about them. With your person; professional or not. And if you are struggling, my door is always open and there’s tea or whisky to be had.

If you’re stuck and need to speak to someone professional in a hurry then or can help in a crisis.

I know that my mental health is at risk because Fibromyalgia affects my body’s ability to produce both the neurotransmitters Dopamine and Serotonin (amongst approximately 200 other possible symptoms–200-symptoms) The short story being, the lack of dopamine enhances low mood and causes serious lack of any motivation and serotonin affects your emotional responses to situations. Anyone that knows me; knows I cry at everything on T.V. Happy or sad. I’m just a big emotional well at times.

Ok, enough of the heavy stuff.

What’s going on with the detox? I’m at the ‘don’t trust a fart’ stage…..

It’s Day 4.

I’ve been to yoga every morning at 7:30 with Dr Prem, we are learning kundalini yoga.’s chanting and very short meditations in the hour and a half session. Although I’m a beginner with mobility issues, the asana (poses) are not too hard to achieve. Keeping them with the breathing sequence is. It’s all very slow and deliberate but I’ll tell you what, the sweat absolutely pours from my body. It’s calming and exhilarating at the same time and I’m already beginning to feel a difference and more confidence, even with the mantras…

After that I have a treatment every day at 10am and then again at 4pm. I’m not going to lie to you, this isn’t a posh health farm or spa. There’s no glamour here and a whole lot of running to the loo today.

So far the treatments have been a classic Ayurveda massage; I can only describe this as feeling like a bit of meat being oiled and tenderised! You are stripped and a loin cloth wrapped round for modesty. It begins seated with hot oil and the worlds roughest head massage. Then you are moved to a leather table and battered. It’s not relaxing in the slightest and you feel battered and bruised but it actually makes a difference to the stiffness if you can tolerate it. I had this massage when I was here in May and couldn’t sit down for days!

Every morning and afternoon I’ve had to drink a cup of the top photo. It’s looks like mud, isn’t too bad but I can now stop as it’s having the desired result. It’s a day for making sure you know where the loo is.

In the afternoon I had a ‘powder massage’ I’ve also had this the following three mornings. Now don’t let the word powder fool you into thinking this is in any way easy going. It’s like been sanded down like a block of wood vigorously for over an hour. This has by far been the most difficult, it’s quite painful. The purpose is to drain all the lymph glands in the body of toxins and break up fat near the skins surface. It’s such a treat feeling all your fat that you’re paranoid about jiggling about like mad I tell ya!

For the last 3 afternoons, I’ve had stretching therapy. Again, it’s a ‘no pain no gain’ scenario. The stretches are deep and painful but each day has brought less stiffness and much more flexibility.

There we go, four days gone in a whirlwind of pain and shit. I’ll not bore you any more today but I’ll keep updating as I go on.

Now, I need to run…….

It’s been a while….. In memory of the loved ones lost

Some things stay the same, I really do have this health condition that’s Fibromyalgia. I still hate all the ‘fibro’ chat even though I use it myself these days. Go figure? And my life is completely unrecognisable to the one I had in October 2016. I’ve had some therapy and waiting in line for more. Really though, I think they just want you to know it’s ok to be a wee bit mental and fuck what anyone thinks.

Well hello there!

Its been nearly a year since my last confession….

And what a year that’s been. This time last year I was still very unwell but trying with everything I had,  to get through the other side. Has that all changed I hear you think? Well, yes and no.

Some things stay the same, I really do have this health condition that’s Fibromyalgia. I still hate all the ‘fibro’ chat even though I use it myself these days. Go figure? And my life is completely unrecognisable to the one I had in October 2016. I’ve had some therapy and waiting in line for more. Really though, I think they just want you to know it’s ok to be a wee bit mental and fuck what anyone thinks.

Whats different? Let me say first, I think it’s important to be brutally honest.

I made it to my friends engagement party last November and no one said anything at the time. Months later, a friend said: ‘Thank god you look more like yourself, you looked like an old woman at the party’ I love this honesty, I did look like shit and it took everything I had to get there and I felt like a spare prick having to sit all night. But I made it and I got to see my best friend have an amazing night with her future husband. Did I pay for it? Fuck yes! I didn’t make my other friends 40th at the beginning of December from the payback.

I really do struggle with this thing ‘pacing myself’ it makes me laugh. I’ve never paced myself at anything. Maybe that’s part of the problem though.

Next up in the spectacular year of sames and differences, my gran passed away in January. Now, she was 94. She wasn’t your run of the mill wee gran. She was vibrant, hard as nails, funny, implacable and had really lived her life. Even when my grandfather passed away many years before; she was still globetrotting right up until 2016 when her health started failing. It’s funny when someone so close dies, you know you should celebrate them but at the same time it’s so hard to think they’re gone from this plain for good. Anyway, she passed away in January holding both mine and my mums hands.

The whole experience made me want to start living again, really living. If only it was that bloody easy.

Shortly after that, I left my husband and although I’m professing brutal honesty. That’s a private part of the story, all I will say is my friends are the best a girl can have. Without them and the absolute support of…. Cheesy as it is, I struggle to put into words just how amazing my parents are. I really don’t know what I’d do without them.

During this, my step grandpa died of asbestosis. I really struggled to see him and yet again I was reminded of a life lived to the max and yet again the frustration of letting them down in some way. The fact that at the tender age of 41, I was stuck. Unable to do so much of what I want because of this bloody condition.

I try to keep humour in these blogs but writing this is the realisation of the struggle and grief in my head this year. Not just the grief of losing family, the grief of failing at your marriage, losing step children and ultimately grieving my fucking life. It’s safe to say I was completely more mental than usual.

God only knows how I managed to wean myself off the worst of the medications through this, I think a combination of staying with a friend and my head being so far up my arse it didn’t register much at the time. I suppose I just felt numb but the frustration was slowly driving me mad. But this is where the changes start.

Now, thanks to that wee gran. She left her grandchildren a bit of inheritance. Not a life changing amount or so we thought.

Cue a conversation with my only female cousin, she’s like a sister. We are close, even though I’m geriatric compared to her!

The result of this was a trip to India for a month, something I think everyone including myself was terrified about. What if I got there and had to be in a wheelchair the whole time? What if it exacerbated all my symptoms. My old self popped up and said ‘Fuck it, we’re going’

Before you roll your eyes, I’m not going to tell you we found ourselves or any other nonsense like that. We still had a life changing holiday though; there was lots of laughter, taking the piss, talking shite, drinking too much, eating amazing food, meeting new friends and ultimately gaining a wee Indian family. Apart from all that, my symptoms started disappearing and I actually properly slept for the first time in years. I left India thinking that I was just about back to normal and that was that.


Aye right!

Firstly, shortly after arriving home. My step gran passed away and I watched my parents torment themselves watching her struggle in a horrific way. Unable to help them in any way but desperately wanting to be able to do something to help their pain.

Coming home to glorious weather was amazing, Physically it was great and I tried to keep the momentum going. What did I do? Hid the grief and kicked the arse out of it. All in for the self destructive behaviours anyone?

I spent most of August in bed, creating a monster in my head and although I’m quite aware that the big black cloud isn’t helped by the fact that my body doesn’t produce enough serotonin or dopamine. I was thoroughly miserable.

Just about then, I got the chance to come back to India. Fuck, why would you not when the memories are so fresh and happy?

So here I sit, a week into my time here feeling motivated to actually produce this mind vomit. Lucky you!

Tomorrow I start a 20 day Ayurvedic detox that both terrifies and excites me at the same time. I just know there’s lots of treatments involved. I’m already mortified that one of those is going to be an enema.

Heres the thing, I have so much to say about thoughts and feelings of the last year but this is already more of a novel than a blog post.

I’ll not bore you any more for the minute but might just tell you about some real shit in the next few days instead of the verbal shit I just made you read 😉

Am I really starting to live again?


It’s life Jim but not as we know it……

Here we are and today my inspiration to write again was how big my pants are! I got to thinking as I looked at knickers big enough to be a tent, just how much has changed in a relatively short space of time.

I had half written this third blog post but I had gone back to it a few times and it became a labour of love, so me and my massive knickers have started again.

I’ve had pains and fatigue for years, if I think back. I’ve always had pain, my mum used to stand me in the close to help ‘the growing pains’ when I was young, of course I never gave anything a second thought. Speaking to others with this illness, there seems to be similarities in that people can remember always having pains. My point that I’m badly making is, even having random aches and pains forever. Life was full, full of nonsense sometimes. But full all the same. Work, friends, family and fun, there’s always been underlying depression and anxiety but I thought I’d managed to keep a lid on that (I was wrong) I’ve made outrageous mistakes and had some pretty surreal adventures. Certainly never boring. 

And now?

This is the big old grown up bit. The thing I have to do and the thing that makes me the most sad if I let it. My life will never be the same again. It sounds so dramatic and I kind of wish it was but in reality it’s not. It’s incredibly bloody boring and that’s the problem.

Even if I was sometimes running about with my head firmly up my arse, at least I was running. There’s too much time to shuffle slowly now, too much time to think, too much time to dwell, too much time to mourn, too much time for anger and frustration. 

Before I descend fully into a wee pity party for one here, I wanted to tell you this is probably why I couldn’t get the third post done. Anyone that knows me, knows how big my gob can be. I thought I’d deal with all this like a boss. I didn’t take into consideration that starting therapy might actually make my head want to explode before helping.

So there it is, Big brave me has been having a wee mental meltdown and couldn’t do anything about it.

You might be thinking, what’s changed?

Nothing really but I’ve got my head round the fact that although nothing is the same, I’m not always going to be in this massively bad stage. There will be improvements.

My friends have been great, there have been nights where they have made me laugh more than I can remember for such a long time, there has been the constant support from long suffering friends, there has been amazing catch ups with friends that I haven’t seen for years. Conversations that have helped me realise that I’m not actually losing the plot just yet. All of this is so important and helps with the creeping feeling of isolation.

My family as ever are unconditional love and support that I wouldn’t manage without. 

Before I start getting emotional and having a good greet, I just wanted to let you know – I’m back bitches 😉

Live long and prosper 🖖 

Swings and roundabouts 

It’s been a week of two halves – there’s been positives, there’s been negatives. This I can deal with. It’s the weeks where I cant get away from the wee gremlins in my head that I need to watch out for.

I’m not sure where to begin, for someone who struggles to get out of bed. I have lots to tell you. No doubt, I’ll forget half way through but I’ll have a go.

The easiest place to start is that I’m writing this from the bath. I can hear some of you thinking so what?! This is a huge deal for me and the first time I’ve been able to do this for round about 3 months. Granted, my husband just had to paddle in the bath to get me out but I’m going to take it as wee victory anyway.

You see the day after my original post, a good friend that I don’t see very often called and we had a lovely long chat. She is coming out the other end that I’ve just entered; so had lots of good advice. Even that someone actually understood what some of the pains feel like was such a relief. I came off the phone filled with more optimism and positivity than I’ve felt for months.

The easiest parts of that conversation that I’ve acted on are: to celebrate every small step and treat it as a victory – there’s been a few this week apart from the bath. I’ve managed to walk to the loo unaided, I look like the night of the living dead shuffling along but I’ve made it! You know about my absolutely glorious bath. I’ve managed to drink 2 litres of water every day and I’ve cut down my caffeine intake.

Now for everyone else these are nothing special I know but right now these are massive steps for me. So I’ve celebrated them.

How have I celebrated? Anyone that knows me, knows I like a party. But alas, that might actually just kill me just now. I’ve been busy giving orders to make the next piece of advice possible. If I’m stuck in bed most days, then should that not be a haven for me. I’d say boudoir but that conjours romantic images and my legs look like teen wolf. 

Instead of lying feeling guilty and miserable that I’m stuck here. I quote my friend ‘make it somewhere that you feel the bed is helping you heal.’ It’s got to be a sanctuary where I’m not riddled with guilt that I can’t clean or tidy. So far my mum’s brought a full length v-shaped pillow that feels a bit like a cloud to lie on and eases the pressure of my skin feeling bruised; I’ve got lovely smelling candles, the youngest bought me a wee light up Buddha for the purpose.

Not a lot but it’s made a huge difference to me.

I’m no further forward about why all the fibro jargon annoys me but I’m sure starting therapy will help with that.

Now, down to this shitty illness. I’ve been busy trying to find out as much as I can for you. Here’s what I know:

As the pain is to do with the nerves, it’s neurological. Why does a rheumatologist diagnose you? I have no idea but of course, I plan to try find out.

There are two parts of the brain that are different in patients with fibromyalgia – almost swollen but not. These put the body into constant fight or flight mode, heightening all sensations. When the neuro pathways that are already on edge sense any stress, anxiety or normal pain. The already heightened sensations all turn up to 11 and the excruciating chronic pain begins. 

That’s a little bit of what happens but what causes this? This is why there’s no cure because no-one knows. There’s lots of research just now and studies are being carried out on genetics and environmental factors, specifically trauma. I’ve been speaking with a bio scientist who is carrying out research into the causes. He confirmed to me that in the hundreds of patients he’s interviews only one hasn’t experienced either great psychological or physical trauma earlier in life.

This fits in, in my own life. There’s been both. 

The thinking is that this trauma has impacted the central nervous system ultimately leading to its sensitisation and illness.

I’m aware that this is a bit geek ball, layman’s scientist this time but I’ve had to really research and speak to people to really find this out.

One of the recurring comments after my first post was that friends had never heard of the illness so I thought it useful to explain what I can.

Ha, there was another positive. I managed to write the first post last week and the comments were so lovely. I really do want to keep going.

I’ve loads more to say and it looks like actually this was a positive post and no two halves about it. As my pal and I have been known to say: onwards and upwards 🚀

How did it get to this then?

As my best friend has a good old whiff of my underarms declaring they are fresh as daisies, we burst out laughing. I haven’t been able to wash or bathe for a few days and I’ve been lamenting that I must stink now. You see, I have this thing. This official diagnosis. I have fibromyalgia.

This is where all sense ends I’m afraid. I’ve been to the G.P. I’ve been to a rheumatologist, he diagnosed me so I know I have it. But what is it? No-one really knows. I can hear you thinking what do you mean no-one really knows? I know this because that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking too; except with a whole lot more swearing involved.

I’m afraid this may be a self indulgent venture, writing this blog that is. I’m at a stage in my illness where I’m having a ‘flare.’ At present I’ve barely been out of bed for the last three months let alone the house. Not moving hurts like hell let alone trying to make the effort to wash and dress. Part of the condition is ‘fibro fog’ so in this three months it’s been difficult to read, watch a film of do anything that takes much concentration. I could feel myself slowly descend into a depressing slump of cake boss on T.V. and when I actually watched an episode of Long Island medium, I knew that I had to do something before what brain I have left turned to mush.

So here it is, my grand idea of writing a blog. I want to say on this ‘fibromyalgia journey’ but you see; one of the reasons I want to write this is because I’m a bit fed up of researching my condition. Only to find all this sound bite type chat. I’ve  highlighted it already ‘fibro flare’ ‘fibro fog’ ‘fibro journey’ and my biggest bug bear of all – ‘fibro warrior.’ I’m not very sure why all these terms annoy the hell out of me but can you indulge me while I try to figure it out? It’ll be like therapy for me, but cheaper. Kind of one sided group therapy!

Thankfully for you guys reading, my posts will no doubt not be too long because either my concentration will wander off and I’ll forget my point or my fingers will get so painful they will stop working.

I’ll sign off my first post by just saying I hope you stay with me while I try to discover how to best deal with all of this without losing my sense of humour. I’m going to look at a holistic approach of evicting the imposter who has taken up residence in my body. For starters they are four stone heavier than I am! 😉