Thirty fucking Five

I’m not too young.

I’m thirty-fucking-five. I have two kids in middle school. I’ve been driving a car for 20 years. I am responsible for paying bills, like utilities, rent, my jeep payment… If i fuck up big time there’s no one to cover for me or pay my bills or hold my hand.

Does any of that sound like any life other than that of a grown adult?

So why is it every doctor I see says to me, “you’re only thirty five. What are you going to do when you’re sixty?”

All I can do is look back and reply, “I don’t know. Maybe science will have an answer and a solution by the time I’m sixty. Or maybe Midwest doctors won’t be so clueless about an illness that is diagnosed 3 million times a year. But in the mean time, could you forget about my age and concentrate on why the fuck I’m in so much pain for no god damn reason?!

No doctor can tell me why I feel this way. They can’t explain the pain- where it comes from and why. They can’t tell me why I have days of exhaustion. The only message I get from any doctor is: you’re quality of life doesn’t matter.

While no doctor has ever uttered those heinous words, they have said by the way I am treated. If I’m not being given prescription after prescription of pills, I’m given nothing more than statements like “you’re only thirty five” and “you’re just too young to have this”.

I just love hearing that last comment- you’re just too young to have this. Really? Cause my body doesn’t think I’m too young. Did your training in medical school teach you all about the age that it becomes acceptable to have a chronic illness? Did you learn that there is a certain age for treating individuals?

I didn’t think so.

My name is Brooklin, I have fibromyalgia, generalized anxiety disorder, major depressive disorder, ptsd.

This is my place, where I am beginning a journey to get better (I hope). Rants, raves, recipes, hope, ideas, thoughts, and anything else that helps me get through my day, will have a home here.

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