"Monsters Are Real..."

    "Monsters are real and ghosts are real, too.  They live inside us, and sometimes they win." --Stephen King.  It's true.  Everyone has the ability to become a monster.  And our past always has a chance to come back to haunt us if we allow it.  For almost all of us, it is our own decision, our own personal choice to decide how much of a monster, if any at all, we become at any time.  As humans, one thing is certain--we all will, and will continue to make mistakes.  That doesn't make us monsters.  It simply makes us humans.  Some of our mistakes will be bigger than others.  Our mistakes affect not only ourselves, but those around us.  We acknowledge them, genuinely apologize for them, if anything can be done to atone for them, we do so, we learn from them, and we move forward.  Some mistakes are easier to move forward from than others.  Forgiveness takes time.  Sometimes it's learning to forgive ourselves that takes the longest.  But that's not what makes us monsters.  It's not learning to forgive ourselves and move forward that turns those mistakes into ghosts.  And those ghosts do haunt us. 
     Especially when it comes to those we love.  We say things we don't mean, do things to hurt each other, and destroy relationships so horribly, there seems to be no way of repairing them.  Sometimes they can be if enough time has passed.  But sometimes bridges have been blown up so many times, hearts and feelings destroyed so often, olive branches, swallowed pride, peace attempts made often enough that the only thing that looks to be a reality is that that person (or persons) are just gone.  And for what?  Ignorance?  Fear?  Stereotypes?  Because it's simply to pass judgement on someone than try to learn the facts because reality is too difficult to face?  Monsters and ghosts.  The monsters are long gone, but the ghosts and the scars from the monsters are still around.
    And it all seems so pointless.  I've accepted many things in my life.  I'm not only tired of fighting in my life, but I'm done fighting.  At least most things.  My health is getting worse.  I spent every day in my life in pain, but was able to ignore it until a decade ago.  In less than three months, I was given a diagnosis.  I thought that pain was bad. 
     Eventually I was able to adjust to it so that I could at least function on a daily basis to take care of day to day things, like shower, go to doctor's appointments, help take care of my nephew, take care of myself on a basic level.  Sure there were bad days and okay days.   I fought through the fatigue.  I even tried returning to college.  Then things got worse and I realized I had NO idea what pain was.  Emotional, physical, or otherwise.  I'm entering my 7th month of this hell.  My 2nd month with a new doctor who knew by my 2nd visit that my previous specialist was wrong the whole time.  All these tests, blood work, X-rays, a CT scan I'm trying to patiently await the results for.  And a pain that is only intensifying.  I have no life right now.  No, this isn't a pity party.  It's just the truth.  I go to doctor's appointments, I pick my mom up, take her on important errands, to her doctors appointments, my own needed shopping (vitamins, prescriptions, basic groceries, more tests, more doctors...), but most of my time is spent in bed trying to will the pain away.  Or when my pain medication begins to work, I pace.  And I use the bottom step or two for basic exercise.  And I stretch.  Just to try to keep moving.  For something that may never have gotten this bad if it was caught in time.  I try not to get angry about this.  I cannot change the past.  I can only wait for that day when my new doctors can give this disease a name and begin the proper treatments and pray that it's not to late to find some relief.  That this hell I'm currently in isn't going to be what the rest of my life is going to be like.  I never imagined that I'd not only be facing new doctors, a series of misdiagnoses, seven months into a whole new level of hell I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and of all things to be on the list of possibilities--lymphoma.  Yep.  Cancer.  It's a slim chance, but it's still there.  And until I'm told otherwise, my brain still can't even process that of all things cancer is even ON that list.  More ghosts.
     So I've tried to keep busy.  Except I have the attention span of a gnat and as the pain intensifies, my thoughts and emotions spiral until I'm at the threshold of a world-class panic attack.  And that's when part of me wants to start calling and emailing me all those people who turned against me over the years with phrases like "lazy fat ass, pain pill addicted loser who should just suck it up and get a job like the rest of the real world" and "fibro isn't real...that's why it's called fibro-my-bullshit and most doctor's don't believe it's even real"  "I'd want to kill myself, too, if I was stuck with a loser like you who won't make anything of themselves" "look at you, you just lay in bed all day, popping pain pills, crying why me because it's easier than growing up, facing reality, and getting a real job"  "it's just an excuse because you'd never amount to anything anyway" and tell them things like well, it's not fibro, it's not chronic Lyme.. it IS REAL.  My doctors were WRONG.  I'm facing something that could kill me because some fat cat scumbags didn't know what they were doing, or they did and were too damned afraid of a lawsuit than admit they made a mistake and now it might be too late, so how does that make you feel now?  Still think I'm faking it?  I can barely get to the bathroom most days.  Showers?  It takes me over 30 minutes just to get my bathrobe, get to the bathroom, turn the shower on, undress, and get into the shower... and showering itself is a slow process because my joints are still so swollen and have a very limited range of motion.  I can't even wear a bra most of the time because my lymph nodes under my arms and in my breasts are THAT swollen and tender they hurt.  Sound like bullshit to you still?  Yet I feel sorry for all those people.  I'm the one living in this hell and I pray that no one ever has to go through this.  I pray that no one ever has to go through the process of years of misdiagnoses, of ever having to deal with pain like this, tests like these, the hell that is waiting for the next set of test results.  The fear as one disease after another is crossed off the list and the possible diagnosis is narrowed down.  And the worst bombshell of all--having the C word dropped into your lap as a possibility--even if it's a remote chance--and being left to wait for that phone call for the test results.  No matter how much those words hurt me, no matter how close some of those people were who said such horrible things, some with whom I thought would be there to support me no matter what, I would never wish this hell on anyone.  I'm done fighting.  I'm saving my fight for when I know what's attacking my body because when this disease has a name, I'm going to need everything I have to fight that.  I'll leave you to fight the monsters and ghosts you created.