If Fibromyalgia Had A Bio
Hi, I’m Fibromyalgia. Let me introduce myself.
So. Here I am. Or rather, here I’m *not* — which is sort of my whole thing, and you’ll notice that’s exactly what my profile picture captures. No face. No body. No visible damage. Just a soft, pale nothing, because that’s precisely how I like to operate: everywhere, all the time, and completely invisible to anyone who isn’t currently hosting me.
A Bit About Me
I’m a chronic pain condition, and despite what my photo suggests, I’m not shy. I’m actually quite the social butterfly — I just prefer to stay out of sight. I show up in muscles, joints, and soft tissue all over the body, bring widespread pain to the party, and rarely RSVP before arriving. Doctors estimate I’ve made myself at home in roughly 2-4% of the population worldwide, which, frankly, is a lot of real estate for someone nobody can actually see.
I’m what’s known as a “central sensitisation” condition, which is a fancy way of saying I’ve turned my host’s nervous system volume dial up to eleven and then hidden the remote. A gentle tap becomes a wince. A normal day becomes an obstacle course. I don’t do subtlety.
How I Spend My Days
Honestly? I’m exhausting — and I don’t just mean for the people I live in. I bring:
– **Widespread pain** — I like to spread myself thin, quite literally, across muscles and joints on both sides of the body
– **Fatigue** — not the “I need a coffee” kind, but the “I have been hit by a Bus” kind
– **Brain fog** — I enjoy hiding people’s words mid-sentence, just to keep things interesting
– **Sleep that doesn’t actually rest you** — yes, I’m there at bedtime too, uninvited, every night!
– **Sensitivity to, well, everything** — light, noise, temperature, stress, the wrong shoes
I am, a terrible houseguest. I don’t show up on scans. I don’t leave bruises. I don’t politely explain myself to sceptical colleagues, doubtful relatives, or that one GP who suggests “have you tried yoga?” That part’s on my host, and frankly, I never apologise for it.
My Friends
Now, despite my reputation, I rarely travel alone. I tend to bring company — old friends, if you will, who often turn up alongside me at the same party:
– **Chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS)**, my exhausted cousin
– **IBS**, who handles the catering, badly
– **Anxiety and depression**, who I lean on heavily and feel genuinely guilty about
– **Migraines**, who crash in uninvited and overstay their welcome
– **Restless legs**, who simply cannot sit still
We’re like a package deal, honestly. I rarely show up solo, which makes me sound more popular than I deserve to be.
How I Affect People
This is the part I’m less proud of, so I’ll be honest with you. I don’t just move into your body — I move into your life. I wreck social plans, interrupt careers, and quietly negotiate with relationships I had no business being invited into. I am, by nature, invisible, which means the people who live with me often have to do the very visible work of explaining, justifying, and advocating for themselves (good luck with that), over and over, to people who can’t see me and don’t entirely believe I exist.
I have no cure. I’m not going anywhere any time soon. What I can say, in my own defence, is that I’m not unbeatable — I’m just relentless. People who live with me learn to manage me, pace around me, and build lives that make room for me without being entirely defined by me. That takes real strength, and none of it is mine to take credit for.
Why This Photo Is Really Blank
You won’t find a face for me because I don’t have one. I don’t look like anything — not on an X-ray, not in a blood test, not in a photograph. That’s the heart of being an invisible illness: the absence of evidence isn’t the absence of experience. So that pale, blank square up top isn’t a placeholder until I get round to uploading a proper picture. It *is* the proper picture. It’s the most honest portrait of me you’ll ever see.
If you’re living with me, you didn’t choose this introduction, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation for it. But maybe, now, it’s a little easier to make one — even with a laugh attached.
Know someone who needs this explained — with a bit of a laugh attached? Share this page. Sometimes a good introduction is all it takes for people to finally get it.
