I try hard to be upbeat. Stay positive. Keep my focus forwards. Keep my focus on what I can do when I can do it, instead of what I can’t do when I can’t do it.

However, there are times when it is hard to keep this blasted condition from spilling over into all other areas of my life.

I started a spirituality blog at my personal domain silverhuang.com. It is supposed to be a place for me to explore & share my spiritual perspectives.

It has been hard enough to maintain a steady stream of published posts, especially since I have a relapse rate of about once every two weeks or so, but it has been even harder to stop myself from doing nothing but write about chronic fatigue there, where it is totally irrelevant.

I thought I got tired of talking about tired a few years ago. Guess I was wrong. My perspectives on chronic fatigue, how I manage it & how it has transformed me, need an outlet. As do my years of repressed hurt, pain, anger & suffering from living with this condition.

I guess I’m tired of always putting up the brave & cheerful front in public. Always happy. Always smiling. Always a-ok. There was this unspoken rule from the very beginning: No one must see how bad it really is. No one must see how much I’m dying inside & out. No one must see me suffering.

Because ‘they’ won’t understand. ‘They’ won’t know how to react. ‘They’ will turn away, uncomfortable. ‘They’ will stay silent, stiff. ‘They’ will secretly wish to be some place else, any place but here with me.

Obviously, I learned this the hard way.

Now, I’m about to unlearn all that.

I’m done pretending to be strong & happy just for the comfort of people who don’t even truly care enough to Be Present. To Be There when a supposed ‘friend’ needs comfort, support, companionship.

No. All ‘they’ knew, all they still know to say is, “Oh well. Hope you get better / well soon.”

If ‘they’ cared enough to read up even five minutes about chronic fatigue, ‘they’ would know what an insensitive thing that is to say.

Obviously, they lack even the maturity & honesty to say what they truly feel.

“I don’t know how to deal with this. I apologize for the fact that I’m uncomfortable & I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable but this is all very new to me. What can I do? What can I say? What should I do or say? How can I really help? I may not be able to help you much physically because I’m so far away but tell me how I can help anyway as a friend, in conversation, through email, through contact.”

Oh well. Guess they haven’t the time or the heart to bother.

(For those who want to learn how they can start, please read Ricky Buchanan‘s The Open Letter To Those Without CFS/Fibro right away.)

I don’t make any promises about being upbeat here. No.

This is where I allow myself to hurt. To mourn. To dump.

And why not? Our society places so much importance of being tough. Is denying one’s hurt, strength? Is being a liar, strong? Is putting on an act, mettle?

Fuck that bull shit.

All I have left to say is this: If you can’t take another human’s suffering in text, then leave. No one’s asking you to read this.

I vent & dump here because I know this vile, bitter bile is better out than in & I’ve learned my lesson enough times the hard way to know that no one can handle the brunt of this toxic tide in conversation & in person, so I release & unleash it here, in the simultaneously echoing silence & roar of cyberspace.

I reserve a space for my hurt that I may keep it from spilling over into other, more important areas of my life.

I reserve a space where I honour my hurt & its sacred process, give it recognition for the role it plays in my life & my healing.

Maybe then, in time, my hurt & anger & sorrow & pain can transmute itself into something useful. Something soft. Something warm. Something beautiful… Freedom.