I saw the movie 50/50 yesterday and I had tears the whole time.

I don't have cancer but I believe the film hits home when conveying the spiral and shock that comes along with a diagnosis.

Since I got sick a couple of years ago it has been a roller coaster of emotions and my lifestyle has completely changed.

I think back to those earlier days... the anxiety, the not knowing what was going on with my body.... why was I bleeding from strange places? Why was I so tired? Why was I vomiting for no reason? Why was I in such pain all day, every single day? It was a nightmare. A time when doctors looked at me with expressionless eyes, waving me away because there was no definitive answer, a time of being stabbed with needles in a vain attempt to feel better with injections, a time where places of MY body were violated so that we could possibly get a name for what was happening.

Finally, finally after almost a year of emergency room visits and being too sick to carry on a normal lifestyle I was told I had Fibromyalgia.

Then it became another attempt to find a doctor who would treat me.

When it became apparent that I wasn't going to get treatment through the state, I researched online and found a Fibro clinic near my home at the time.

I was finally OFFICIALLY diagnosed in March of this year.

Yes, it took from November 2009 to March of 2011 to be diagnosed by a rheumatologist and internal medicine doctor.

From that point on numerous labs were taken and I was started on a prescription and supplement program designed to rebuild my weak immune system (working at 12%)and hopefully get the viruses and candida under control so that the Fibro would become manageable.

I was told that it would take about a year to start seeing results. The doctor was pleasantly surprised to see how well I was responding to treatment. However, at the time I had not made the necessary changes in my personal life to aid my wellness pursuit. I had stopped going out, stopped pretending to fit into that old world that didn't accept me how I was BUT California was chaotic. I was unwilling to let go of the child I had taken care of since she was 2 months old.

And then in August the time came. I had felt it moving closer and closer, that inevitable decision to move loomed over my head and suddenly I was making plans to drive across the country and let go of California. It was an easy decision to make, but the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I would watch Mylie sleep and wonder how I could ever leave her.

Now I am here in North Carolina and the recovery after the drive was quite long. When I got here and the adrenaline wore off I felt as if I had never gotten treatment in the first place. Gone was ANY energy I had, gone was ANY desire to be a part of anything. I just felt slammed again.

It has been 2 months today since that U-haul trailer hit California soil and traveled the expanse of miles. My mind reels.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my "recovery" is inching back. I feel a spark here and there. This last week alone I went out 3 days in a row! I even drove myself, and while driving can be a little daunting (especially at night) I did it! I have found a possible home church, I have gone walking when able, and I have been learning so much about myself and about how to accommodate my illness.

My fellow fibro warrior has taught me a few of her tricks, such as marinating in bed awhile after waking up. Usually I would bounce out, race to the bathroom, choke down all the meds and start the day in a frenzied rush.

Why?

It's simple.

My body doesn't operate that way anymore and it hasn't for a long time. Poor thing. I have been driving it to the absolute brink, even when I have told myself I was resting.

Ha! I was fooling myself.

The definition of resting is:
"Cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength.
Remain or be left in a specified condition: "rest assured".

So now I have started to rest. I am so thankful to have teachers in everyone around me- from the birds to the trees to the children to the friends to the family and all else. I am blessed to be privy to such amazing insight every single day.

I have my fair share of annoyances or bad moods. I have times where it feels dismal and I want to throw in the towel. I get easily frustrated, especially at myself. I have been so hesitant to be labeled as a "sicky," that somewhere along the way I stopped trying to understand that I AM SICK, and there is NO shame in that.

While watching 50/50 (*spoiler alert for those of you wanting to watch this film) my heart ached. I felt him as he sat across from the doctor who told him with no emotion of his diagnosis. When that happens time stops still and a disconnect occurs. The healthy world and you. That's it. Black and white. It all becomes muted in the face of a lifetime sentence.

Then I watched as his friends and family found out and they fumbled with words and their own grief. I watched as he tried to comfort them in the midst of his own disbelief and shock, and I remembered how that felt. To be strong while others fall apart at your health crisis. I remembered the aggravation I felt when people wouldn't let me be. They needed answers, they wanted to offer me solutions to a problem they couldn't quite equate.

I watched as he lost people who he thought were there for him. People he thought would be there, but who dismissed him when he no longer belonged in their world.

Then he started to meet others who were going through what he went through...

my throat aches with unshed tears.

THIS is what makes illness bearable on the worst of days.

Knowing others who are with you in this (whatever it is for you). People who understand when you are too sick to move, people who can make you laugh, people who teach you how to survive. Terminal or not, any life-changing condition WILL rock your entire world. It helps in a way I cannot describe to have fellow fighters alongside of you.

I watched as he told himself and others that he was fine. I've been there. The shock, then the anger. I listened as he was told by someone, "I don't need you to take care of me." There is a freedom song when someone tells you that. Being sick constantly is a burden and there are so many feelings of guilt and shame that tend to sneak up in you. When you have someone in your life who allows you to be who you are, uglies and all, it provides immense support.

I cried as he went through an isolation phase, and watched as he reached out to his parents for help. I thought of how true it is, that when everyone else fails us, our parents (hopefully) remain. They love us like no other people do.

I cried as he prepared for surgery and the possibility that he could die during it, and as he screamed at the top of his lungs in the car I recalled many moments where I could only scream, or wail or cry as all of the feelings collided and spilled out and over one another.

I felt a deep, deep gratitude for my friends and family who have attempted to understand this with me. In the movie he uncovers a book in his best friend's bathroom, notes and all scrawled inside. He had been under the impression that all his friend cared about was something else, and then he discovered that all along his friend had been grieving on his own.

It makes me understand that people do love me. People have tried to understand. People have come alongside me. That means everything to me.

I'm full of emotion.

It was just a movie, but at the same time it wasn't. It was another teacher, and I am so full of appreciation for what is in my life.

I am not 100% and I may never be 100% again, but I am somewhere on the road to managing my illness and that is amazing.