Getting back up

As a kid, my grandparents and parents always taught me to be strong, to never give up. Yes, sometimes they would say that I was just plain stubborn. I would always reply that I am just tenacious. But, somehow along the way, Fibromyalgia had beaten me down. It was a slow, steady beating. The type that you really don’t notice, until you realize that you can’t get back up. I would try something. Fail. Get back up, and try again. After awhile, I gave up trying as hard. I lost that tenacity, my stubborness. I could not get back up.

Then, about two years ago, the bull in me called BULLSHIT. My Daddy didn’t raise no fool. Why was I being one? Why did I roll over and play dead? Shit, I ain’t dead yet. I just have Fibromyalgia.

So, I stood up. Dusted myself off, and tried again. But that’s a whole other story

Today, I am thrilled to say that I am off of all my medication. Yes, all. I still have a few fibro flares, but they are only fractions of what they used to be. Yet, that fear of falling down and not being able to get back up is holding onto me with more strength than I care to admit.

Last Summer, I went to climb Half Dome. Well, I should say tried to climb Half Dome. I pushed it on the hike by trying to keep up with my hiking group, and by the time we reached the sub-dome, I fell down and couldn’t get up. Actually, my body plain gave out. I started seizing and an overwhelming pain ran throughout my body. I’m sure on the outside, I just looked tired. But on the inside, I was screaming with all my might in pain.

Though somehow, I did, I did get up to try again. I made it back down the mountain and continued to fight to improve. As soon as my two week long pain attack ended after Half Dome, I placed another physical goal in my sights — I booked a trip to hike for five days in Peru. Don’t ask me why I went from not making a 22 mile day hike to booking a high elevation, almost week long hike in another country. But if you are gonna live, you might as well give it all you’ve got. Right?

Next week, I am off to Peru to hike to Machu Picchu, five days of hiking in fact. My emotions are all over the place. I’m excited. I’m thrilled. But most of all, I am scared to death. And, this fear is eating me alive. It’s starting to eat away at the joy. What if I fall down again? What if I can’t do it? What if I have a pain attack on day one? Tons of what ifs. And this time, I am doing this with perfect strangers.

Then, I remember that I am in that stage of my life of  called “after I no longer accepted that I couldn’t do it.”  So, I’m getting up. Packing my bags and facing my fear head on.

Here’s to living! See ya when I get back.

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