A Regular Friday Night

November 3rd, both of my parents texted me about going out to see this band at a venue called, “Fogartyville” in Sarasota, FL. I slept for two days in preparation for it. I thought that if I didn’t expect anything from myself for those two days then I’d be able to survive a four hour excursion to Fogartyville.

Well it was November 4th and I was very tired but didn’t feel exhausted, so I told my parents I was in. I got dressed and started to feel my energy waning. So I put on my new petticoat under my dress so it was super fluffy and made me smile and gave me a little energy.

Well I made it the first 45 minutes feeling relatively normal. Then I started feeling claustrophobic. Another 45 minutes pass and my pain starts to climb the stairway to heaven. And then what started out as a really great night suddenly turned into a trap. I had come with my parents and couldn’t leave. My anxiety was hiking the rockies and threatening to take a flight to Kilimanjaro.

I’m not so great at telling people about my pain. So when I did I only mentioned the claustrophobia and not the building pain which had at that point built to almost crying.

All I wanted was a regular night. I just wanted to go to a concert, hear amazing music, eat yummy food, and enjoy the evening.

But pain takes things like a regular friday night and turns it into the streaming PSA in my brain of the perils of acting like I’m a normal person who can do normal things and tries to shame me for my pain.

I know it’s not my fault. It makes me sad that I can’t have a normal friday night without wanting to cry, curl up in a corner, and listen to The Chariot.

(For those who are bitten by the curiosity bug, I enjoy The Chariot…also, they scream at the world for me when I just don’t have the wherewithal to do so myself.)

It’s weird that invisible illnesses are so invisible because I’m willing to bet that you know multiple people who fall into the realm of having an invisible illness.

Tonight my illness was invisible. My pain went unnoticed by everyone except me. My pain made me feel like I had to apologize for it.

While at Fogartyville there were a bunch of college age girls dancing to the music and in my pain and anger at it and myself for coming, I was also angry with them for their youth. I was angry at them for moving in the very ways I desired to be able, but could only watch and wish.

Of course there was another aspect to that, being that they were screaming and blocking view…

But I digress.

For anyone who doesn’t have the kind of pain that people can’t see, it is very trying to have your pain doubted by everyone you meet, see, or know. I guarantee that next time your friend tries to apologize for their pain and instead of accepting their apology you tell them they have nothing to apologize for and have a right to their pain, they will either tear up then and there, or ugly cry later on.

Pain takes something that ordinarily would have been a night of escape and makes it ugly.

People with chronic pain aren’t the average bears. If we show even an inkling of pain, it is incredibly likely that

we are in more pain than we could tell you.

Your support means more than we’ll ever be able to tell you.

Sincerely Yours,

The Undefeated