Fibromyalgia, or something

So I'm going to start out with my fibromyalgia. I can guarantee things will be out of order but I'd at least like to get every disorder written down individually to start out.


Did I mention I hate spring? The dirt, the worms, the mud, the smell, the headaches, the backaches, the hipaches....

Since I was a child I've had a number of things...wrong with me. I've suffered from migraines my whole life but I usually only get them once a month. Unless it's spring, then I get them every other day.

Anyway, I'm only 18, a young one. About two years ago my body was bothering me, as in my knees were hurting and it was hard to stand for a long period of time. I used to have a paper route but quit it to work in a library which I quit to go into nanny-ing. I quit the library because shortly after I got the job my hips started hurting, a weird hurt. Like I had somehow pulled all the muscles in my hips and they were going to pop out of their sockets. Then out of the blue my entire body hurt. My neck, my back, my arms, my legs. Everything. I would be lying in my bed and feel a horrible sharp stabbing pain in my back, only to find that I had a wrinkle in my sheets. Weird.

I've always had a high pain tolerance. So that was confusing me. I went to my doctor right away and he told me that I had to be tested for rhuematoid arthritis and lupus. Say what? I was barely seventeen. Off I go, the results come back and I'm "fine". Okay, now what?

Massage therapy.

So nothing comes from it but my doctor swears by it. Telling me massage and stretching will solve my muscle problems and soon enough I'll be able ot be a marathon runner. Okay maybe not a marathon runner but whatever. Anyway, I'm not better, I'm not okay. I go back and tell him I think I have fibromyalgia, he tells me no. I tell him yes. A few appointments later he tells me I have it but he doesn't like that term.

So here I am, in pain, now eighteen, trying to figure out how to live with this...problem. My days consist of laying in bed until noon, dragging myself out of bed to eat lunch (which my darling mother makes me every day) and going to work at two thirty to babysit the little devils for three hours who I believe will be the death of me one day.

Help?