Last night was one of those nights — the kind where your body won’t let you rest no matter how exhausted you are. My lower back was on fire, pain radiating down into my hips and legs, locking me in place. I tried every position, every pillow trick in the book, but nothing helped. Eventually, I gave in and smoked a little weed because sometimes it’s the only thing that cuts through the pain enough to let me sleep. It helps me forget that I am in immense pain, but even when I do sleep, I rarely wake up refreshed.
I woke up to that now-familiar sensation: my body heavy, stiff, and sore like I’d been hit by a truck in my sleep. My fibromyalgia doesn’t just cause random pain — it’s a full-body experience. Every inch of me ached. My muscles throbbed with deep, burning soreness, and my joints felt like they’d rusted overnight. The worst part? This happens every morning. That’s fibromyalgia for you: widespread, unpredictable, and completely exhausting.
Getting out of bed has become its own delicate ritual. Before I even think about getting out of bed, I have to start stretching while still lying down. I have to stretch slowly, still under the covers, gently loosening up whatever seized during the night. If I skip this part, the pain is worse.
I can’t just stand up either — not with POTS. If I go straight from lying down to standing, my heart rate spikes, causes dizziness, or even pass out. So I sit on the edge of the bed for a while, let my body adjust, and only then — slowly — start to stand. Moving too fast also triggers a cascade of pain, muscle spasms, and pure exhaustion. It’s a whole process just to start the day.
Today, I had a pain psychology appointment. We tried a biofeedback device — the kind that’s supposed to help with stress, heart rate, and calming your nervous system into a state of coherence. It sounded promising in theory, but I had to be real with my doctor: it’s not for me. Between the constant physical discomfort and my ADHD, sitting still and focusing on my breath while my body screams in pain is not something I can sustain. It’s not calming — it’s frustrating.
As if that weren’t enough, I’ve been dealing with intense stomach pain too. Sharp, twisting sensations that feel like someone is wringing out my gut. Chronic illnesses have a way of stacking things on top of each other — just when you think you’ve got one symptom managed, another one flares up out of nowhere.
This is what it’s like living in a body ruled by chronic illnesses and pain — not just in one place, but everywhere. Back, neck, head, stomach, joints, muscles, even the skin sometimes. It’s relentless, and invisible to everyone else.
Some days are about healing.
Some are just about surviving the day/night.
Today? I’m calling it a win just for getting out of bed.
This is life with chronic illnesses and pain, and a body that never seems to settle. It’s messy, frustrating, and invisible to most people.
But I know I’m not alone.
If you’re reading this and you get it — I see you.
Stay strong and keep pushing through!
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