It’s not necessarily the endless burning and knowledge that you have to plan out every possible eventuality and how to control things when they don’t go to plan.
And the never ending dull ache that never lets go.
Or knowing you’ll be on pain killers, anti-depressants, muscle relaxants, sleeping pills and whatever other cocktails they’ve allowed us to get addicted to.
Or that you’ll have to explain every little detail to each and every new person that enters your life. Or even the inability to do the normal things people our ages will, and do, do.
And not even the stupid little things, like snuggling up on the sofa and watching films (on your own or otherwise) because constant repositioning and shuffling around due to no one position being comfortable for more than about half an hour.
Or the almost constant pounding headaches, muscle aches, anywhereaches, everywhereaches.
It’s the knowing that nothing will ever take away the helplessness and the feeling of utter despair and knowing you’re upsetting the people around you by being so depressed, and in so much agony.
But not one of us would ever wish it upon another.
Let’s be realistic here, if we were able to, each and every one of us would be fighting nonstop to take every single other sufferer’s pain from everyone else.
You know we would.
And it’s the knowing that the likelihood of the cure being found is made oh so much smaller by the lack of interest from others. And that you’ll have to face almost every person in the world who will mutter the words,”You don’t look ill or disabled though...” With that judging look on their face that you know you will never stop wanting to punch.
This is killing some of the kindest, strongest, funniest, most beautiful and most caring people in the world because you can’t see it and it so; it doesn’t exist. Since when should that be allowed?
It shouldn’t.