In my early Fibro-days, before I was diagnosed, before I
started physical therapy, and when I was being ravaged by Rachel (myFibromyalgia’s name) with unbearable pain most of the time, I had to begin
grieving the person I had once been. I
don’t think I knew it at the time, because without a diagnosis, my prognosis
was opaque at best. However, I do think
I began the grieving process, particularly when I would see my reflection in the
window of my mother’s car. I probably
noticed my reflection in mirrors as well, but the car window reflection struck
me more saliently.
The reflection simply didn’t belong to me. I didn’t recognize the slumped over beastly
monster. My reflection couldn’t hold
herself up straight, I would later learn, because her core muscles were wasting
away, being eaten by Rachel, that fat fiend
My reflection dressed sloppily,
because clothes hurt so very much. Her
hair was a mess, because her arms didn’t work well. Her face wasn’t mine. It hadn’t’ changed, I don’t think, but
somehow, it wasn’t mine. Perhaps the
pain had found its way to my soul, and perhaps a pained soul reflects in one’s
face. If you believe in souls, that is.
After my diagnosis and after I began physical therapy, I
began to improve. Not long after that,
the monster in my reflection was chased away by my real reflection. I slowly returned. Clothes still hurt, but not as much, and I
was learning how to dress somewhat better without adding pain. My arms worked again, so my hair could look
nice again (my mom helped with my hair and clothes when I couldn’t, but it’s
just not the same when someone else does these things for me). My core muscles were returning, so I could
stand straight again. Most importantly,
my face was back.
Whenever I see my reflection in a car window or a more
traditional mirror, I am grateful that I see myself, rather than my
fibro-monster. Perhaps the fibro-monster
is what Rachel looks like.
Seeing the reflection of the distorted version of myself
forced me to come face to face with Rachel, that is, with my Fibromyalgia. I would have to grieve and let go of the
person I had prefibroly (get it? Pre-Fibro + previously) been and accept the
person I would have to become. At my gradually
strengthening core, I am still the same person that I have always been, as is
reflected in the return of my real reflection, but much of my life and perhaps
portions of my personality had to change so that I could more effectively cope
with chronic pain.
