I’m a Marshmallow – it’s called fibromyalgia, “Something always wrong”

By: Dr Alexa James

I like being like a marshmallow compared to me. On the inside and outside I’m gooey and squidgy –pretty much the same thing. I have no thick skin, so my outside is just a bit resistant to the inside of the marshmallow. Oh, I go quite pink in the sun.

I was a delicate soul always, I take things to the heart. I totally disdain even the things I dismiss from people. I have to develop a thicker skin, thicker than most people, when I am young with an invisible disease. People can judge others quickly, in particular if you don’t “look” disabled.

The truth is that most of us are quite good liars with invisible diseases. From the outside world, we hide pain. Like Elsa we “hide not feel” (whenever I have had a flare up, only I have been undergoing a glamorous transformation.) It is not easy to hide pain, most of it to others. People do not like to see other people in pain.

Being not visibly sorrowful however, causes others to doubt my credibility. I’m a Hypochondrian, “Something is always wrong.” People feed on my plans or cannot do anything a person with a capacity can do. Yes, “something’s always wrong” is Fibromyalgia, always there and always there. Also, imagine how irritating it is for me, if my condition is distressing to you.

I’m going to be the first one to admit that I am very susceptible to accident. You can guarantee that I will walk into it or trip across it if there is an object near me. In addition to the fibromyalgia symptoms, I’m usually covered with blemishes and may limp. It’s a fibroid symptom, but I think it’s only the symptom of being to me. I was always tormented.

A black eye, a cast arm or a missing limb cannot argue. You can argue against widespread pain, anxiety, nausea, tiredness, headaches and all kind of fibromyalgia. It doesn’t mean you ought to just because you can.

For the first time in a supermarket, I have recently used a mobility scooter. My body was tired, my feet went inside and I began waddling like a duck, a tale of sign that my body was sufficient. My body was too tired to propel. I thought of using a wheelchair. I know the mobility scooter user stereotype well. You’re either lazy or fat to walk or both. You’re assumed. You think of people flying around in Wall-E, who remember a mobile scooter with futuristic vehicles.

I knew what people were going to think as someone who is more a Michelin man than Barbie’s girl. Although I have nothing to say that is unreasonable, I can feel their opinions. I thought people were leaving their way to make it hard to get around. Much of it probably was paranoia, I was aware of myself with a scooter, so I had analyzed other shoppers ‘ body language. But at least some of it didn’t improve my anxiety.

I love the sentence, “those who do not mind and those who do not care,”

And I’m surrounded most of the time by people who “mindlessly don’t.” But what the stranger I’ve passed on the street thinks I’m still very caring. My marshmallow mind constantly muses with the thought of other people, but why should I really take care of it? Are your doubts less legitimate for my pain? No, why are they so important to me, then?

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