I AM FIBROMYALGIA.
I AM FIBROMYALGIA.
You won’t see me when I enter.
That’s the beauty of it.
I don’t need claws.
I don’t need blood.
I don’t need to leave a mark.
I live inside the wiring.
I whisper through your nerves while everyone else sleeps.
At first, I’ll take something small.
A little energy.
A little sleep.
A little concentration.
You’ll blame yourself.
“I’m just tired.”
Good.
Keep telling yourself that.
Then I’ll turn your skin against you.
I’ll make a gentle touch feel like fire.
I’ll make your muscles ache for no reason.
I’ll fill your head with fog until words disappear before you can speak them.
I’ll wake you at 3 a.m. and remind you that tomorrow is waiting.
I’ll make you cancel plans.
I’ll make you miss things.
I’ll make you watch the life you want from behind glass.
And when someone says,
“But you don’t look sick.”
I’ll smile.
Because that’s my favorite part.
Nobody can see me.
Nobody knows I’m here.
They’ll see you standing.
Working.
Laughing.
Smiling.
And they’ll never hear me whispering inside your head:
“You aren’t who you used to be.”
I’ll make you question your strength.
I’ll make you feel guilty for resting.
I’ll convince you that you’re failing…
when you’re actually surviving.
And every time you think you’ve figured me out—
I’ll change the rules.
Different pain.
Different symptoms.
Different nightmare.
Same body.
Same prisoner.
Me.
I’m not just pain.
I’m the thing that slowly teaches you to fear your own body.
And I’ll be waiting when you wake up tomorrow.
Because I never left.
