Diagnosis 1: Fibromyalgia

Instead of cataloging all the minute details of every injury or illness I've experienced, which would be an utter waste of both your time and mine, I'm only going to go into further detail when it's necessary to understand the fuller scope of things. That being said, lets start with my diagnosis of Fibromyalgia...

In late 2012 I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, a relatively new issue with a lot of buzz around it. The Department of Social Security has recently listed it as a viable disability IF you can prove you have it. Now, fibro doesn't really have a specific test, it doesn't some up in blood work or x-rays. Wikipedia says that to diagnose Fibromyalgia, these 2 things must occur: "1. A history of widespread pain lasting more than three months—affecting all four quadrants of the body, i.e., both sides, and above and below the waist. 2. Tender points—there are 18 designated possible tender points (although a person with the disorder may feel pain in other areas as well). The patient must feel pain at 11 or more of these points for fibromyalgia to be considered."

So, fibro is pain. Everywhere. All the time. AKA a fancy name for Chronic Pain. But WHY and HOW are the big unknowns. There is much speculation on why or how how it's caused, but very little about how to fix it other than with medications. So when I was diagnosed, my Rheumatologist prescribed a variety of medications specifically for fibro. I took them as directed and after a few weeks I could function a little more regularly, but I was by no means pain free. 

Being in that much pain for as long as I had ended up taking it's toll. I quit working, I stopped trying to get into college for my Masters program, I gave up on trying to live any semblance of a normal life. Eventually I told my husband, Wade, that I didn't want to live. I had thought of all the ways I could possibly kill myself, narrowing it down to the ones that were the least messy, most possible, and least traumatic for others. Thankfully, I still had the desire to not bother anybody with my death, or at least as little as possible, this left very few options. Once I told my husband, he conspired with my big brother to come visit me, hoping to cheer me up. Even then, I slept most of his visit and wasn't interested in going anywhere or doing anything. At this point, Wade made a deal with me: I could only end it all if I agreed to talk to my parents and siblings face-to-face about it first. I had to tell them why, and I was not allowed to do it without him present. I agreed. This prevented me from driving across the state without him and claiming I had spoken with them when likely I hadn't. This also made it possible for him to continue going to school though he did offer to drop out until I was better. I didn't want him to drop out and he didn't want me to die. We had an understanding. 

He also went with me to see my psychiatrist, ensuring that I told him how I was feeling. My psych suggested I try therapy again, which would be my third attempt and something I had no hope of having help. Not that I'm anti-therapy, quite the contrary, but I'd never been to one that had helped me. They were nice, they listened, they said all the things I would say if someone came to me with similar issues, all things I knew and had told myself already. However, the therapy he suggested was one I'd never heard of, EMDR.

EMDR sounds ridiculous. It really does. Here's how it works: you talk about what's bothering you, therapist waves his/her hand back and forth in front of your face, you focus on hand-waiving, after 20 or so seconds they stop, you then say the first feeling/thought that comes to your mind, repeat. REALLY!? Sounds amazingly silly and not at all productive. Crazy thing is, it works. Now, it's not for everyone, and the science behind it isn't clear yet, but for whatever reason, it seems to help people with PTSD, like myself.