Never let anyone else write your story. Don't let them decide who you are and what your truth is. Most people in my position don't have the financial resources to access a lawyer, or the wherewithal to know that it might be worth fighting a decision like this. 

DISCLAIMERS:I am not a medical or legal professional. The information provided in this blog is anecdotal and is not medical advice. I am telling you MY story. My story and experiences may be different from yours.

I am normally a very loving, kind person. I may say things super bluntly (especially for southerners) and I definitely say "fuck" a whole lot, but I'm kind. My friends actually call me the Love Terrorist. It started with my friend Lisa and I owned it and now it's just a thing.

I have done a lot of hard work in therapy throughout my adult life. I've had two therapists especially who I credit with helping me to make my biggest breakthroughs so that I could function as a healthy (albeit imperfect) adult. Because of all of this hard work I am generally able to maintain my moods and emotional well-being with extremely low doses of a particular medication and a heaping mountain of self awareness and self-care practices (thanks social worker friends!) Diet and exercise also play a roll.

Throwing chronic pain into my mix, though...I didn't see that freight train coming, y'all.

The simple secret of loving someone or interacting with someone who has an invisible illness and/or chronic pain, is this:  "That really sucks. I'm sorry that you're dealing with that, it sounds like Hell. Is there anything I can do to help?" 

There was a period in early June, before my doctor and I got the Gabapentin to levels that made a significant impact in which everything is a blur and I lost chunks of whole days because my brain dissociated. Pain that intense creates a sort of mental prison that the sufferer can get trapped and lost in. At least that was the case for me. There were times when I was home alone or at night when I needed to be sleeping and the pain was so intense and sustained such high levels that I would be crying and wishing for escape, thinking, "If this is what life is going to feel like long term, I don't want to live."

I was lucky because I never had to be alone for very long.