We're Still Humans In Here

I'm having trouble getting a photo in today so have a .gif.

I started this blog for two primary reasons. The first and primary reason was to inform people who were near to me what was happening inside of my body. The second was to continue on and inform people of what it is like to be stuck in here. When asked what my motivation was, in fact, I remember answering “I want people to understand.” I do… so I keep writing, even though the initial four days’ worth of posts (I worked ahead before I started because I knew I’d be more likely to keep this going if I could “mail it in” while I thought of other things to say).

Since starting the blog, family have reached out. Obviously, I expected that. In addition, though, there has been a somewhat unexpected result of this writing. A non-zero number of people…. friends… have reached out to me with both messages of support but also to thank me. Small, inconsequential little me. If you know me, though, you know that even if that non-zero number is 1 (it is more than that), I have felt that all of the time spent setting this thing up, writing, thinking, planning… it has all been worth it. Hell - it could not help but to have succeeded. As soon as I hit publish on that first post, it did most of what it was designed to do. But here is the thing. I promised myself that no matter what, I would keep this going. For the purpose of being kind to myself, I had to. Adding in that people have actually in some way found this to be helpful to them makes the imperative that much stronger. So I come to today’s point:

I know I wrote the other day about phrases and such that I have challenges with. I still stand by that. I get that those phrases are there to help people close to people who are actually ill. Today’s point (and hopefully a takeaway of reading this) is that in spite of everything, inside of these decaying shells of involuntary self-destruction, we are still human. We feel the same way we ever did (or in some cases differently, but better I guess). We wake and hope and dread and accept and feel the support of caring and thought. We actually need that the most. Yes, DMT and mental health and everything… of course that. But feeling like someone cares when you are feeling particularly run down on a day and a nap isn’t going to fix it. Knowing that someone out there is actively thinking about you when you are feeling trapped in your body. Knowing that someone relates when your body is doing things… things you or your doctors don’t understand (FUN FACT: My Dx story is not typical. Many people do not luck into a chiropractor who happens to have MS who says “You should see a neurologist”. In fact, in the year 2022 CE, many MS diagnoses are slow, laborious processes. You would think that something like this would be easier to diagnose today. For many, though, there is a period of chasing individual symptoms and lots of head scratching.) We are human. We want to get away from the constant reminders that things will never be the same. Be there. Be curious. Be supportive… but most of all be the friend to that person that you always have been. That is what your human friend who has MS will find helpful.

I know that this blog is my story. It is my perspective. Only mine. This thing is so wildly different that someone else that you know with the same battles will have completely different stories. BUT - Please share. Go back to the first post. Share it on your Facebook. Share it on your Twitter. Shout it from your local hilltop or mountain. If I have managed to reach the number of people that I have from my limited audience, maybe if we cast the net further, we have a chance to do something good here… something real. There may be someone out there that you know that is struggling. That needs support… that needs a hand… and they might not know how to ask for it. I am here to tell you that it could mean everything to someone. (additionally, you can send them to my blog-specific twitter @brainplaques) Let’s help some humans.