Maybe She’s Born With It. Maybe She’s MidEvil.

I feel my brain decaying. All skills, gone. Memories too, but that’s nothing new. If I want to draw anything, I have to relearn every single step every time. I’ve forgotten how to retain information. It doesn’t come easily anymore, it comes like it would to someone who is a beginner. I feel more than hopeless.

My body certainly is. I no longer have any pain-free days and I’m back to using my walking stick or crutches. The recent flare I had hoped would lessen in a week has now lasted over a month with no sign of leaving. I’m in so much pain. I’m so tired.

I hate how I look but I can’t lose weight unless I starve because I have insulin resistance. I only eat 1200-1500 calories a day and it doesn’t make a jot of difference. I can’t even exercise because it makes the pain so much worse and my body doesn’t recover for several days to a week. I’m so weak that being conscious hurts. I struggle opening drawers and doors and jars. I struggle sitting up. I struggle taking a lid off a bottle of water.

My doctor’s notes are full of “medicine isn’t there yet” and “we will provide as much support as we can,” because she wants to help but there’s nothing she or anyone can do. My blood work is normal. My hormones, my thyroid, everything that can be tested is normal. And that marks the end of the line.

Even hugging my partner is painful. I can’t be touched anymore without some sort of joint falling out of place, or the nerves of my skin being set on fire. I miss being held without being uncomfortable. And I’m a burden to him. He has to do everything for me. And I can’t even try to help because of pain and weakness.

Pain. Pain. Pain. It gets worse every year. It’s getting worse and worse and worse and worse. How will I cope with this trajectory ten years from now? Twenty?