It's not okay.

There are two very different extremes that Lyme takes me to--sometimes I feel like I'm trapped in my body. Sometimes I feel like I'm completely outside of it.

Sometimes it feels like my skin is too tight. Like I can't move. Like if I were to move my skin would rip open. Even the seams of my clothes leave marks on my skin. My anxiety creeps in because I am legitimately trapped in the vessel that is fighting against me the most. I can't take my skin off. I can't get out.

But then other times I feel completely outside of my body. Like I'm floating above it while it goes on without me. Like I'm disconnected from it. Like it's working separately from me. Like I can't control it. Like it's not mine. There's a separate kind of anxiety that comes with that feeling because even though it's my body it doesn't feel like it.

There's rarely a happy medium. There's rarely a day when my body feels like it's not only mine but it's okay that it's mine.

And so, when people ask me what my biggest symptom is, I want to tell them "my body."

My body is what's wrong. My body is not okay.

The one thing I'm supposed to be able to rely on--to depend on--is betraying me. And no matter how you look at that, it's not okay.