Here.

This is another one of those posts that I'm pretty sure applies to more than just me. I'm writing it because right now I'm feeling it. But I know I'm not the only one. I know that my other Lyme friends can feel me on this one. And I know that if you don't have Lyme, but are struggling with something else--be it another illness or maybe just another struggle in your life--you may have felt this way at some point too. So if you're reading this and you understand, I am sorry. I am so sincerely sorry that you've felt this way. Because, there is no other way around it, it sucks.

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Just so you know, I can feel it. I can feel it as you slip further away from me. I feel it as your texts stop coming, and it's longer between answers, and then suddenly I'm the only one texting you and I'm not getting anything back at all. I feel the silence between dings on my phone getting more and more heavy. I feel the weight of the problems I'm coming to you with getting heavier too, in that silence. You don't feel it as your life goes on without me. But I feel it. Oh boy do I feel it.

Just so you know, I can feel it. I can feel the punch in the stomach when I come to you crying and you can't even look me in the eye. Like I'm some kind of diseased creature. I am diseased. But I'm also a human. I'm also your friend. You're supposed to love me through it. Don't you? Don't you love me through it? I thought you told me you'd love me through it.

Just so you know, I can see it. I can see it when you are not talking to me but you are online talking to other people. When I tell you something but you just can't find the time to talk to me about it. But you're finding time to go out with your other friends. Your healthy friends. Your friends that are at the same place in life as you. Your friends that aren't me.

Just so you know, I can see it. I can see you forgetting about me. I can see you moving on with your life while I sit here feeling like I'm rotting in this life that isn't moving on with me. I can see the dust settling as you disappear in the distance. And once it settles I can see everything a lot more clearly. While I'm standing here alone.

And just so you know, I can hear it. I can hear you when you say that you're here for anything. Whenever I need it. No matter what it is. Yet I'm feeling it. And I'm seeing it. And nothing is changing. Nothing is different. And here I am.

I am still me. Here.

And I just need you to be here too.

Wednesday.

I've always been one to remember dates. Two years since this happened. Five since that happened. I've always been that girl. But, since I've been sick, there have been a lot more days like that that have been added to my memory. They aren't all necessarily days that I want to remember. But they are all days that have stuck in my head.

This Wednesday is one of them.

This Wednesday, July 13th, 2016, I turn 26. (That's not the bad part, just in case you weren't sure 🙂) but it's also my six year headache anniversary.

Six years ago, on my 20th birthday, I got a stabbing pain in my head. That pain, and the pain that has grown to radiate around it, has not gone away ever since.

Now, I am by no means telling you this for sympathy. If you've been here long enough you know that I don't write my blog for sympathy. Sympathy is the last thing I want. And, plus, we all have our things that we deal with. One of mine just happens to be a 6-year headache. It's painful, it's been life-altering, and it's nothing i'd ever wish on anyone. But it's also out of my control. And, I mean, shoot, there has to be a Guinness record coming up for me sometime, right?

So, the reason I'm even writing about this is because I believe it's something to celebrate. I believe that the fact that, come Wednesday, I will have woken up for 2,190 days and opened my eyes hoping to not feel the pain anymore, only to realize it was still there is something to celebrate. Because, waking up and doing something that feels nearly impossible every day for 6 years is something to celebrate.

So celebrate I will! And celebrate you should, too. Not my headache-iversary. Unless you are just looking for a reason to celebrate on Wednesday. In which case, you go right ahead and use me as a reason! But, celebrate the anniversary of hard times in your life. Because you made it. You made it through something tough. Whether it's a week. A year. Ten years ago. It doesn't matter. You did it. I've been doing it for six years now and even though I'm still fighting it, I am proud of myself. And you should be too. For any battle you have fought, are fighting, or will fight.

I am strong. And you are too.

That's a wrap!

Well friends, we made it. We made it through another Lyme awareness month together.

I hope that you learned something. I hope you are walking away from this Lyme awareness month with some sort of knowledge about Lyme that you didn't have before--even if that knowledge is just that you absolutely want to do everything in your power to never get it. And, if you did learn something, I hope you will take it and share it with a friend. I hope you will teach someone what I've taught you. It takes all of us.

If you have Lyme too, I hope you are walking away from this month feeling a little less alone. I know how scary it is. I know how lonely it is. I know how bad it can be. But I also know how powerful it can be to know that someone gets it. So I hope you can walk away from these posts this month knowing that I get it. You are not alone.

If you have someone in your life with Lyme, I hope you are walking away from this month having learned a little more about how they are living their Lyme life. I know their world is confusing. I know your part in it is confusing too. But they need you. We need you. I hope my words this month have given you a deeper understanding of how your person feels. Be there for them.

Thank you. Thank you so much for taking this journey with me. If this is your first Lyme awareness month that you've been here for, thank you for joining me. If you've been here for the past years, thank you for coming back. You all make a difference in my world and I wouldn't be doing this without you.

Here's to making it through another month and here's to a year of strength, health, and positive changes until Lyme awareness month next year!

1 more day.

With only one day left in this month after today, I decided to look back on everything I've written so far this month. And what I saw made me a little sad for a second. What I wrote this month was exactly what I didn't want to write.

I didn't want to be negative; I wanted to spread awareness. I didn't want to be sad every day; I wanted to spread positivity. I didn't want to tell you about how bad I felt every day; I wanted to tell you about how to be strong.

But then I realized that what I wrote this month may not have been what I wanted to write, but it was exactly what I needed to write. I promised back at the beginning of my blogging adventure a few years ago that I would be real and honest, and that's exactly what I did this month.

Right now I don't feel well, and that's what I told you about. Right now I'm not always 100% positive, and that's what I told you about. Right now I'm sad sometimes, and that's what I told you about.

So yes, this month was different. But I hope I did succeed at spreading awareness. If nothing else, I hope you took away from this month that it is worth taking every possible step you can to not end up in a similar situation.

You are worth it.

Thank you for sticking this month out with me and making my battle feel worth it, too.

Some days really hurt.

Some days really hurt.

My head really hurts. (My head always hurts.) My neck hurts where it's trying to hold my head up. My hands hurt. Whether I'm using them or not. My eyes hurt. My skin hurts. My brain hurts.

But most of all my heart hurts. My heart hurts because, no matter what, when my head hits the pillow at night, this is all still real.

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.

It finds a way.

Lyme has this weird way about it. It finds its way into everything. Everything. You can't go anywhere. You can't do anything. You can't talk to anyone. It always comes up.

Sometimes your body is the culprit. You can be going along, minding your own business, and it reminds you in the most vicious way--a stabbing pain, a suddenly numb arm or leg, words you all of a sudden can't remember, blacking out in public, whatever it may be.

Sometimes other people are the ones who bring it up. Sometimes it's because they know you have it; sometimes it's because they have it; sometimes it's because they've heard of it or read about it lately. Whatever it is, there's always the punch-in-the-stomach feeling that comes along with hearing it come up in conversation.

You can't escape. No matter what you're doing. It finds a way in.

Lyme always finds a way.