If anything makes a break up even more complicated and painful than it already is, it’s an incurable condition.
As you may or may not know, three weeks ago my partner ended our relationship of 2 years and 9 months. Don’t worry, I’m not going to give details or dissect what happened on here. I certainly don’t intend to blub on my keyboard as I can’t afford to replace it if it breaks due to water damage. What I am going to do is talk a little about something that had never even occurred to me before.
So what happens when you stop having a relationship with someone who has essentially taken on the role or your carer?
You have to hand it to him; the man researched my condition as soon as he found out that I had it and learnt all of my idiosyncrasies and oddities. He knew which of the “simple” everyday tasks I found it hard to do and just automatically did them for me. He knew what to do when I crashed and how to handle my brain fogs and made me feel safe when I was with him. He did all of this selflessly and without judgement.
So (leaving the slushy, drippy love stuff aside because I don’t want you to vomit in to your hat) what now? I’m having to re-learn how to take care of myself. I’ve had two years of someone understanding what was going on and now I’m on my own again. I can hear plenty of people saying “Tell us, ask us for help!” which is lovely, but if I did that all the time it would come out as a constant string of whining “I can’t do that it hurts, can you pick that up, my legs aren’t working at the moment..” etc. etc. ad infinitum, ad nauseum, ad me drowning in a bucket of self loathing.
Having to do all those things by myself again means that not only is the break up taking its toll on me emotionally, but it’s taking rather a physical toll as well. I’m not saying I’m helpless, because I’m not, but I did get in to a role where I was able to not worry about not doing certain things right away, if at all because there was somebody who understood. This means I’m so much more exhausted.
I’ve gone back to having the fear of being in social situations because I don’t know if I’m strong enough or if I have enough spoons to deal with both the emotional and physical toll on my own and I don’t want to cause “a scene”. I know people must get bored of having to deal with my shit. Quite frankly, no one is more bored of it than I am. The only person I felt that I could be honest with about how I felt and didn’t think I could scare off or bore with it was him.
The idea of forging that kind of relationship with someone else is just too daunting.
So at the moment, Fibromyalgia wise, I feel a little like the stone around peoples’ necks. I know that’s partly the depression talking, but really I would like to have the zombies piss off for a while. At least give me the chance to get over the break up like a normal human being, maybe even go out dancing.
It’s time for them to invent a robot with the voice of Tom Hiddleston to come and help me get out of bed in the morning. See to it please Apple.