The weird eccentric ramblings of a multiple sclerosis sufferer

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Dear Past Me: Here’s What MS Will Actually Be Like

Dear Past Me,

Sit down.

Actually, enjoy being able to do that without calculating whether you'll be able to get back up again.

We need to talk.

You're going to hear two words:

Multiple Sclerosis.

And you're going to be frightened.

You're going to imagine wheelchairs.

You're going to imagine hospitals.

You're going to Google things you absolutely should not Google at two o'clock in the morning.

But here's what nobody will properly explain.

MS won't simply be one enormous dramatic thing.

It will be thousands of tiny ridiculous things.

So I'm writing from the future with some useful information.

You're welcome.

---

YOU THINK FATIGUE MEANS “TIRED”

Oh, sweet summer child.

You think tired means:

"I could do with an early night."

That's adorable.

MS fatigue is more like somebody has quietly removed your batteries, filled your bloodstream with concrete and increased Earth's gravity by approximately 300%.

You can wake up tired.

You can become tired from showering.

You can become tired from getting dressed.

You can even become tired from resting because apparently resting is now an activity.

People will suggest getting more sleep.

Try not to kill them.

---

YOU'RE GOING TO FORGET WORDS

Not complicated words.

Not photosynthesis or existentialism.

Normal words.

Spoon.

One day you'll be standing in the kitchen saying:

"Where's the... you know... food shovel?"

And the terrifying thing is that you'll know exactly what the object is.

Your brain simply won't provide the label.

You'll eventually become fluent in a new language called:

THINGY.

---

YOUR BODY WILL BECOME A HAUNTED HOUSE

Random pain.

Buzzing.

Burning.

Tingling.

Numbness.

Electric shocks.

Muscles moving without permission.

Parts of you feeling freezing when they're warm.

Other parts feeling like they're on fire when they're not.

You'll eventually stop saying:

"What the hell was that?"

You'll just say:

“MS.”

It's quicker.

---

YOUR BLADDER WILL BETRAY YOU

Remember when needing the toilet was merely a suggestion?

Enjoy that memory.

Future bladder communication will occasionally resemble:

YOU HAVE FOUR SECONDS.

You will develop an extraordinary superpower.

Whenever you enter an unfamiliar building you will immediately locate:

1. The toilet.
2. The route to the toilet.
3. Obstacles between yourself and the toilet.
4. Potential witnesses should the mission fail.

Jason Bourne has nothing on you.

---

PEOPLE WILL SAY ASTONISHINGLY STUPID THINGS

"But you look fine."

"Everyone gets tired."

"Have you tried yoga?"

"Maybe you need to think positively."

You'll discover that chronic illness apparently grants random strangers honorary medical degrees.

Do not worry.

Eventually your sarcasm becomes extremely efficient.

---

YOU WILL GRIEVE

This bit isn't funny.

There will be times when you miss the old you.

The person who could simply decide to do something and then...

do it.

Without calculating energy.

Without planning toilets.

Without wondering whether the legs will cooperate.

Without needing recovery time afterwards.

You'll grieve abilities.

Plans.

Freedom.

Spontaneity.

Parts of your old identity.

And that's alright.

Because grief doesn't mean you've surrendered.

It means something mattered.

---

BUT SOMETHING ELSE WILL HAPPEN

You'll change.

Not into one of those inspirational poster people standing heroically on a mountain at sunset.

Fuck that.

You'll become stranger.

Darker.

Funnier.

More adaptable.

You'll learn that independence doesn't necessarily mean doing everything without help.

You'll learn that mobility aids aren't surrender.

You'll learn that cancelling plans isn't a moral failure.

You'll discover people who understand without needing the entire bloody explanation.

You'll become remarkably good at finding humour in situations that objectively shouldn't be funny. Because sometimes the choice really is:

Laugh.

Cry.

Or do both while desperately searching for the nearest accessible toilet.

---

YOU WILL STILL BE YOU

This is the part I wish somebody had told us.

MS will change things.

Some changes will be small.

Some may be enormous.

But diagnosis doesn't suddenly erase the person underneath.

You're still going to laugh.

Still swear.

Still love.

Still get angry.

Still make terrible decisions.

Still have ridiculous ideas.

Still find things beautiful.

Still be interested in things that have absolutely nothing to do with Multiple Sclerosis.

You aren't going to become MS: The Person.

You're still you.

Just with considerably more neurological bullshit.

---

So, Past Me...

When those words finally arrive, you're allowed to be frightened.

You're allowed to be furious.

You're allowed to grieve.

But don't assume the story ends there.

It doesn't.

It simply becomes a much stranger book.

And one day you'll discover something nobody mentioned at diagnosis:

You can take something utterly shit and still laugh directly in its face.

Love,

Future You

(Still here. Still fighting. Still swearing.)

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

twitter@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Good afternoon, readers—yes, I did suffer a real time slip event in Bideford. In fact, several in North Devon and Cornwall over the years of living there. Even saw a few big black triangles seemingly hovering over the bay near where we once lived.

This is a tongue-in-cheek version—some real, some not—but the core experience? Absolutely valid. The universe has a darkly humorous sense of humour, and it loves to mess with you when you least expect it.

The Long Bridge: Where the Past is a Jerk

Let’s set the scene. You’re in Bideford, a charming little town where the river runs black (because of course it does this place doesn’t do "normal"), and the moonlight plays tricks on your eyes. You cross the Long Bridge, expecting a pleasant stroll, maybe a ghost tour, maybe just the sound of your own existential dread echoing back at you.

But no. The past here isn’t just there it’s active. It’s like the universe’s way of saying, "Oh, you wanted history? Here, have a whole century uninvited."

The Rules (According to the Universe)

1. Don’t Look Left or Right – Because if you do, you’ll see things that shouldn’t be there. Like a man in Victorian clothes standing where there was definitely a doorway five seconds ago.
2. Ghost Tours Are Optional – If you sign up for one, expect the guide to suddenly realize they’re not alone. "That’s impossible," they’ll say, while some stranger in 19th-century garb tips his hat and vanishes like a bad Wi-Fi signal.
3. The River Runs Backwards (Or You Do) – Because why should time flow logically when you could be standing on the bridge arguing with a man who claims you’re the ghost?

A Personal Account of Time-Slip Madness

I was there once. A ghost tour started at half past eight, and I followed the guide like a good little tourist. Then—poof—there were three of us. One with a lantern (very dramatic), one with a phone (very 2023), and one just standing there, waiting to go home.

The guide? Panicking. "That’s impossible."

The stranger? Smiling. "Not according to the bus."

And then because the universe loves irony the fog rolled in, and nobody was there.

The River Knows Your Name

At some point, you’ll hear bells. Not church bells. Midnight bells. At 11:30 AM.

You’ll see a horse clattering past while cars zoom by, because of course they do—this place doesn’t respect traffic laws either.

And then, just when you think it can’t get weirder, some guy in Victorian clothes will stare at you like you’re the one who’s out of place. "Sir, you’ve been standing there since 1892," he’ll say, before vanishing beneath the bridge.

Final Thoughts (Or Lack Thereof)

If you ever find yourself on the Long Bridge, ask yourself: Do I want to see the past?

The answer is probably no. But if you do, just remember—don’t wave back.

Because if they wave first… well. That’s when you know.

You’ve crossed over.

Or they have.

Either way, you’re screwed.

For the Paranormally Curious

"I’m on the Long Bridge in Bideford, and I think I’ve slipped into 1892. What do I do?" Ah, so you’ve finally noticed the time slip? Congratulations, you’re now a main character in North Devon’s most underrated horror story.*

Here’s what to do: 1. Don’t panic. The universe doesn’t like drama. 2. Check your pockets. If you find a pocket watch, it’s either a cool souvenir or proof you’ve been possessed by a Victorian ghost. (Spoiler: It’s the latter.) 3. Ask for directions. If someone in 19th-century clothes stares at you, just smile and say, "Lovely weather we’re having." Then run. 4. If all else fails, blame the bus. (Works every time.)

Final Note: If you ever find yourself on the Long Bridge, just rememberthe past is watching you. And it’s laughing.

(Or maybe that’s just me. Either way, I’m not alone in this.)

sending all readers of the blog peace healing love and light

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

twitter@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

well as I post this I am suffering with a stress attack with brain fog,and my autonomic dysfunction is strangling me making it harder to breathe looking like the nxt few days are going to be a bit unpleasant.. still remember to hydrate and not to over do things like I have and am really paying for it now due to me not taking my own advice still things have to be done until I cant any more physically and mentally as I slide deeper into this progressive ms but that’s life

Because apparently losing control of your nervous system wasn’t humiliating enough

Multiple Sclerosis is many things.

It is painful. Exhausting. Frustrating. Unpredictable. Occasionally terrifying.

It is also, and nobody puts this bit on the cheerful NHS leaflet, spectacularly fucking embarrassing.

MS doesn't merely attack your nervous system. Oh no. That would be far too straightforward.

It waits.

It studies you.

It learns precisely which remaining scrap of dignity you still possess...

...and then kicks it down a flight of stairs while you piss yourself trying to remember what a staircase is called.

Welcome to another glamorous day with Multiple Sclerosis.

Here are 20 of the most embarrassing things MS can throw at you.

And before somebody sends me a strongly worded email: yes, these things are serious. Bladder dysfunction, bowel problems, cognitive impairment, tremor, mobility problems and spasms can have a massive effect on somebody's life.

Sometimes laughing at the bastard is how we survive it.

1. The Emergency Toilet Sprint

Your bladder sends an urgent neurological telegram:

TOILET. NOW.

Unfortunately, your legs received a completely different message:

We’ll get back to you within three to five working days.

So begins the world's slowest emergency sprint.

You can see the toilet.

The toilet can see you.

There are twelve feet between you.

It may as well be fucking Everest.

2. Pissing Yourself in Public

There isn't really an elegant way of describing this one.

Sometimes MS means you don't make it.

You can plan routes around toilets, restrict drinks, wear protection, know every accessible loo within a twenty-mile radius and still occasionally discover that your bladder has declared itself an independent republic.

And nothing restores your dignity quite like standing in public thinking:

Well. That's wet.

3. The Fart of Uncertain Intentions

For most people, passing wind is a fairly straightforward administrative procedure.

With dodgy sensation and bowel problems, however, every fart becomes a high-stakes negotiation.

You think:

"Probably safe."

Your bowel replies:

"Interesting theory."

And suddenly you're gambling with odds that would get a casino investigated.

Never trust a fart when your nervous system is being operated by drunk electricians.

4. Walking Like You've Drunk Twelve Pints While Completely Sober

There you are at ten o'clock in the morning, staggering down the pavement like you've spent the night drinking industrial quantities of whisky.

You haven't.

You're completely sober.

Your balance just happens to resemble that of a pirate walking across a trampoline during an earthquake.

The looks from strangers are particularly charming.

You sometimes want a T-shirt saying:

I'M NOT PISSED. MY BRAIN HAS JUST LOST CONTACT WITH MY LEGS.

5. Falling Over Absolutely Nothing

No ice.

No kerb.

No loose paving slab.

No small child with a tripwire.

Nothing.

One second you're standing upright.

The next you're examining the carpet at extremely close range.

Someone inevitably asks:

"What did you trip over?"

My central nervous system, apparently.

6. The Wall Bounce

Why simply walk through a doorway when you can enter it like a pinball?

Left shoulder.

Right shoulder.

Door frame.

Cupboard.

Possibly the dog.

Eventually you arrive in the next room looking as though you've just escaped a pub fight.

Technically, you successfully walked ten feet.

Achievement unlocked.

7. Missing the Chair

You have been sitting down successfully for most of your life.

It isn't a new skill.

You understand the basic concept.

Chair behind bottom.

Bottom goes down.

Civilisation has relied upon this technology for centuries.

Then MS gets involved.

Suddenly sitting down requires trajectory calculations normally performed by NASA.

And occasionally...

you miss.

8. Dropping Absolutely Everything

Phone.

Keys.

Fork.

Remote.

Cup.

Pen.

Medication.

The thing you've just spent twenty minutes looking for.

There comes a point where you stop picking things up immediately because experience has taught you that you'll probably drop the bastard again.

Eventually the floor becomes a secondary storage system.

9. The Fork-to-Mouth Navigation Failure

The objective is simple:

Move food approximately twelve inches from plate to mouth.

Unfortunately your nervous system has decided this requires experimental choreography.

Food goes onto your shirt.

Onto your cheek.

Onto the table.

Possibly into your hair.

Your mouth sits patiently nearby wondering why nobody invited it.

Fine dining with MS.

Michelin would be appalled.

10. The Brain-Fog Conversation Crash

You are halfway through a perfectly intelligent sentence.

You know exactly what you're talking about.

Then...

Nothing.

The thought has vanished.

Not hidden.

Not temporarily misplaced.

Deleted.

The other person waits.

You wait.

Your brain displays the neurological equivalent of:

404 — THOUGHT NOT FOUND

Eventually you say:

"I've forgotten what I was saying."

They helpfully reply:

"You were talking about—"

YES, THANK YOU, I KNOW I WAS TALKING.

THAT'S THE PROBLEM.

11. Forgetting the Name of Someone You've Known for Twenty Years

You recognise their face.

You know where they live.

You know their partner.

You've been to their wedding.

You may even know their dog's birthday.

Their name?

Gone.

So suddenly everybody becomes:

"Mate."

"Love."

"Hello... you."

Nothing suspicious about that whatsoever.

12. Using Completely the Wrong Word

"Pass me the... food shovel."

"The what?"

"The silver thing."

"A spoon?"

"YES. THE FUCKING SPOON."

Brain fog doesn't necessarily remove the concept.

Sometimes it merely removes the perfectly ordinary word describing it.

So your house becomes filled with exciting new objects such as:

The clothes washing box.

The cold cupboard.

The television changer.

The foot gloves.

And the thingy.

Especially the thingy.

13. The Leg That Resigns Without Notice

Everything is going surprisingly well.

Left leg working.

Right leg working.

Walking happening.

Excellent.

Then one leg suddenly announces:

I no longer recognise the authority of the brain.

It drags.

It buckles.

It stops.

Or it wanders somewhere you hadn't intended.

Apparently collective bargaining has reached the spinal cord.

14. Getting Trapped in Your Own Clothes

Putting trousers on should not require strategic planning.

But when balance, weakness, stiffness or coordination are having a bad day, getting dressed becomes an escape room in reverse.

One trouser leg twists.

Your foot disappears.

You lose your balance.

Now you're hopping.

Hopping was a mistake.

Eventually you're lying sideways on the bed wearing one sock and quietly threatening a pair of jeans.

15. The Public Tremor Performance

You are carrying a cup of coffee.

The cup is full.

People are watching.

Your hand suddenly decides it has always dreamed of becoming a cocktail shaker.

Coffee begins performing orbital manoeuvres around the rim.

You stare at it.

Everyone else stares at it.

You attempt to walk very carefully.

This naturally makes everything worse.

By the time you sit down, you've transported approximately 40% of the coffee.

The rest is decorating the route.

16. Being Defeated by a Sofa

You sat down.

This was your first mistake.

Twenty minutes later you decide to stand.

Your legs disagree.

So begins the launch procedure.

Rock forward.

Rock back.

Forward.

Back.

Forward again.

Hands on knees.

Push.

Nothing.

Reposition.

Make strange noise.

Try again.

Eventually you achieve verticality with the elegance of a newborn giraffe being fired from a trebuchet.

17. When MS Invites Itself Into Your Sex Life

Nobody puts this in the glossy information leaflet either.

Numbness.

Altered sensation.

Spasms.

Pain.

Fatigue.

Weakness.

Bladder urgency.

Parts of your anatomy apparently working to completely different timetables.

Romance can occasionally become less:

Fifty Shades of Grey

and more:

Could you move my leg? It's gone numb and I need a piss.

Sexy.

Very sexy indeed.

18. The Sudden Spasm

Your body suddenly jerks.

You didn't request it.

You didn't approve it.

You weren't consulted.

MS has simply activated the random movement generator.

Naturally this often happens at precisely the moment you'd prefer to appear calm and normal.

Your body:

SURPRISE!

---

19. The Scooter or Wheelchair Manoeuvre of Shame

Mobility equipment gives independence.

It can also provide opportunities for spectacular mechanical humiliation.

Doorways become narrower.

Shop displays become magnetic.

Furniture develops suicidal tendencies.

You misjudge a corner.

Clip something.

Reverse.

Clip something else.

Reverse again.

Now six people are watching.

At this point there is only one sensible course of action.

Pretend the entire manoeuvre was deliberate.

Professional driver.

Obviously.

20. Having to Explain Any of the Above

And perhaps this is the final indignity.

Something embarrassing happens.

People stare.

Someone asks whether you're alright.

And you find yourself calmly explaining:

"I've got Multiple Sclerosis."

As though MS is some badly behaved child you've brought shopping.

Meanwhile inside your head you're saying:

YES, THANK YOU, NERVOUS SYSTEM.

ANOTHER FUCKING MASTERCLASS.

Eventually, Embarrassing Just Becomes Tuesday

There is a peculiar point you can reach with chronic illness where the definition of embarrassing starts changing.

You fall over.

You laugh.

You forget a word.

You invent another one.

You spill your drink.

You clean it up.

Your bladder betrays you.

You deal with it.

Not because these things aren't difficult.

They bloody well are.

Loss of independence is real.

Loss of confidence is real.

Bladder and bowel dysfunction can be devastating.

Cognitive problems can be frightening.

Mobility problems can fundamentally change somebody's life.

But embarrassment depends partly upon believing your body shouldn't be doing these things.

After living with MS long enough, you begin to understand something.

Your body is damaged.

Sometimes it misbehaves spectacularly.

That isn't a moral failing.

So eventually you stop apologising quite so much.

You start adapting.

You start carrying spare clothes.

You learn where every toilet is.

You laugh when you've called the refrigerator a cold food wardrobe.

You swear at your legs.

You negotiate with your bowels.

You glare suspiciously at stairs.

And somewhere along the way, the ridiculous becomes normal.

Because after enough years with Multiple Sclerosis...

“Embarrassing” gradually becomes “Tuesday.”

Welcome to My Living Hell.

Real life. Real MS. Real humour.

No inspirational fucking butterflies required.

and yes I have had many incidents like those above over the years.. remember when you go out be prepared for every eventuality sending everyone peace healing love and light

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Well hello, and a massive welcome to all my readers whether you’re humanoid, NHI, or otherwise.

The past few weeks have been nothing short of tumultuous! I have so much ground to cover, so let's break it down into smaller pieces.

Health & Wellness Updates: The Hard Stuff

First, an update on Albertine's finger is good news she doesn't need the finger removed after all! Apparently, the part that was sewn on was okay. While the total tip of her finger is gone for good (I suspect a hedgehog or some rodent claimed the rest in the bushes!), it’s been a very trying couple of weeks overall.

On my end, I’ve driven more over these last three weeks than I have in probably eight years! It proves that when I'm feeling good, I can still do it. But let me tell you about the contrast: when I got home after those drives, the brain fog and stress attacks were mind-boggling. How I long remember my old days of riding my motorcycle or trike through the Southwest of England! Those fun times and all the camaraderie shared with Albertine on our rides through Cornwall and Devon what an amazing time it was.

The Autonomic Dysfunction Puzzle

I recently received a letter from the hospital that dropped a major bomb: they suspect I might have autonomic dysfunction. Honestly, how many times have I gone to the doctor detailing these symptoms? And speaking of listening... it’s frustrating. It's only now, after ten years and much prompting, that the medical staff are looking into everything.

I feel completely unheard. Having put together evidence over a decade while being ignored and gaslit was exhausting. But here’s where the AI came in! Years ago, I used a medical AI to input all my symptoms, and it suggested: Autonomic dysfunction severe with a histamine issue. Since managing this diet has been tough, I've been committed to avoiding any food that can trigger a reaction.

It makes me feel pissed off like nobody listened for ten years! Why do we need constant scans and needles? All of it seems focused on mapping my progressive MS, but not helping the other symptoms that come along with it. Sometimes, you just want someone to say, "Leave him alone; let him rot."

However, I also get that the NHS is stretched incredibly thin right now. There are so many patients, and we desperately need more resources. But I do wonder why natural remedies aren't considered as a viable part of the treatment path?

💻 Tech Troubles & The Brain Fog

Between Albertine having her finger cut and me trying to reinstall Windows 11 and Zorin on two different machines, my computer issues have been massive! Peripheral hardware played havoc with us for days. I’m so tired that the brain fog and stress attacks are back in full force it's horrendous how quickly my body reacts to major stress.

Speaking of technology... I find myself using AI more and more, and it genuinely helps me navigate life right now. It makes me wonder why there isn't a specialised "disabled package" for things like this? For some of us, £20 a month is a huge expense. A few quid a month would make a massive difference!

🚲 Mobility Scooters & Unexpected Adventures

My journey with mobility scooters has been... eventful. I finally got my brand new four-wheeled model and took it out in town. Well, it started acting up immediately. It kept cutting out and nearly caused a horrific accident right in the middle of a roundabout! Because of this, it’s stuck in the garage for now. (No need to name the company; that would be unfair.) I've sent two emails and received absolutely nothing back.

For the moment, I am safely back on my trusty three-wheeled scooter of death. At least that seems functional! Fingers crossed I get a proper response from the four-wheel company by the end of the week, or it's heading straight back.

🌠 From Scooters to Space: And Other Updates

Finally, for the fun stuff! Last night, while watching the eclipse (around 7:20 PM UK time), I saw my first UFO and filmed it! It was a grey round ball. I can’t judge its size, but it hovered perfectly still in the sky for about twenty minutes—like a ghost passing by. What joy!

Sending peace, healing, love, and light to all of you. Please remember to hydrate today; my conservatory is over 110 degrees, and the house is at least 30+! Be safe and keep cool until next time!

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

*This article is a fictional and darkly humorous portrayal of living with Multiple Sclerosis. Experiences of MS vary greatly between individuals.

Multiple Sclerosis has stolen strength, memories, certainty and independence but it has not managed to destroy my humour. In this fictional letter, MS looks at the person whose life it invaded and proudly describes its cruellest work.*

A Letter from Multiple Sclerosis – Living With an Invisible Disease

Dear Human,

We've been together a long time now.

Long enough that I know your routines better than you do.

Remember when you first met me?

You thought I was tiredness.

Stress.

A trapped nerve.

Vitamin deficiency.

Bless you.

I let you believe that for a while.

I enjoy a slow entrance.

Now look at us.

You wake up every morning wondering which version of me you'll get.

Some days I let you walk.

Some days I borrow your legs.

Keeps things interesting.

Do you remember when you trusted your own body?

I do.

That was my favourite part.

Watching that confidence disappear one tiny piece at a time.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Just enough for you.

That little stumble.

That forgotten word.

The coffee cup you suddenly couldn't grip.

The name you knew yesterday but couldn't remember today.

Magnificent.

The clever part wasn't hurting you.

Pain is easy.

Anyone can inflict pain.

No...

My masterpiece was making you doubt yourself.

"Did that really happen?"

"Am I imagining it?"

"Perhaps I'm just getting older."

Exactly.

That's where I live.

Not only inside your nerves...

Inside your certainty.

I've taught your immune system to attack the very wiring that makes you...

You.

A beautifully engineered act of friendly fire.

Your own body became my accomplice.

I hardly have to do any work anymore.

The funny thing is...

Everyone keeps asking what you've done today.

As if surviving me isn't already a full-time occupation.

They see you standing.

They assume you're fine.

They don't see the calculations.

The balance.

The fatigue.

The pain.

The electrical storms firing through your spine.

The words disappearing halfway through a sentence.

No...

That's our little secret.

I particularly enjoy introducing new symptoms without warning.

Just when you think you've understood me...

Surprise.

Here's dizziness.

Enjoy your lunch with swallowing problems.

Fancy some burning feet?

Let's throw in bladder urgency while you're standing in the supermarket queue.

Why?

Because I can.

I have no rules.

No timetable.

No conscience.

You call me unpredictable.

I call it creativity.

But then...

Something rather annoying happened.

You laughed.

Not once.

Not politely.

Properly laughed.

You made jokes about me.

You named your mobility scooter.

You turned your misery into stories.

You started writing.

People read them.

Some cried.

Some smiled.

Some recognised themselves for the first time.

That irritated me.

You see...

Diseases like me thrive on silence.

On shame.

On isolation.

Every time you tell the truth...

You steal a little of my power.

Every time someone says...

"That's exactly how I feel."

...I lose.

Don't misunderstand me.

I'm still here.

I'll still hide your memories.

I'll still tighten your muscles.

I'll still steal tomorrow's energy before you've finished today.

That isn't changing.

But neither, it seems...

Are you.

You're still getting up.

Still writing.

Still laughing.

Still refusing to become only my diagnosis.

Honestly...

You're becoming rather inconvenient.

With the utmost professional irritation,

Multiple Sclerosis

P.S.

I'll probably move your keys tomorrow.

Just to remind you who's technically in charge.

Wishing all the readers of this blog a happy week ahead peace love and light to All

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

Twitter@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

**please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it **

The Finger Lives! Unfortunately, So Does the 70-Mile Round trip Home

Well, a very good morning, good afternoon or good evening to whoever happens to be reading this blog, wherever you are in the world.

Humanoid, non-human intelligence, confused extraterrestrial, government surveillance operative or somebody who simply clicked the wrong bloody link...

Welcome.

It has been quite a day.

In fact, it has been quite a week in my little corner of reality.

The Continuing Adventures of Albertine's Finger

First, an update on Albertine's finger.

As you may remember, she cut the bloody thing off.

Not nearly cut it off.

Not gave it a nasty little nick while chopping an onion.

No.

She went for the deluxe package.

Fortunately, the rather clever people at the hospital sewed it back on.

Unfortunately, after all that excitement, she developed a pressure sore on the finger where it had been bound and boarded up.

And yes — pressure sore.

Not "precious saw", as my speech-to-text system originally decided.

Apparently my computer thought this story needed an enchanted woodworking tool.

It didn't.

The finger has already provided quite enough entertainment.

The Great Hospital Expedition

This morning we left home at approximately quarter past seven for Albertine's 8:30 appointment.

This was necessary because getting a parking space at a hospital seems to require military planning, satellite reconnaissance and possibly divine intervention.

Arrive at a sensible time?

Don't be ridiculous.

The car park will already resemble the evacuation of a major European city.

So off we went at stupid o'clock.

And then something deeply suspicious happened.

Every traffic light was green.

All the way there.

I don't trust this sort of thing.

When the universe suddenly starts being helpful, I immediately assume it's distracting me while something else prepares to explode.

But no.

We arrived safely.

We found somewhere to park.

And then...

Albertine was actually seen five minutes early.

At a hospital.

Five.

Minutes.

Early.

At this point I began looking around for horsemen of the apocalypse because clearly the normal laws governing space and time had temporarily been suspended.

A Quick Word About Driving and Medication

Because I knew I had to drive today, yesterday I didn't take any of the medication that could affect my ability to drive, in accordance with the medication guidance.

I wanted to make absolutely certain I was safe and okay to drive.

And actually, despite the traffic and inevitable hold-ups, the drive wasn't too bad.

Which brings us to the important bit.

THE FINGER LIVES!

The plastics team examined Albertine's finger and gave us some genuinely brilliant news.

It has made an amazing recovery.

Better still...

It will NOT need to be amputated.

That was bloody wonderful to hear.

The pressure sore that had developed is also sorting itself out and they weren't concerned about it.

So, after everything that has happened, the finger has apparently decided it quite likes being attached to Albertine and intends to remain there.

Excellent decision.

There is still a little bit missing from the very tip and about an inch further down there is...

No.

We're not discussing that.

Absolutely not.

There are certain things my brain does not need to visualise.

My imagination is already far too efficient at producing nightmare fuel without being given additional source material.

Let's just say:

Finger attached.

Finger recovering.

Albertine happy.

Warlock Dark not looking too closely.

Everybody wins.

And Then MS Sent Me the Bill

Of course, getting there and back meant roughly a 70-mile round trip.

About two hours of driving altogether.

And now I'm home...

I can feel the invoice arriving.

The brain fog is beginning to creep in.

My neck is starting to feel decidedly strange.

The energy reserves are disappearing.

Somewhere inside my nervous system a tiny bureaucrat has apparently looked at today's activities and announced:

"Excuse me, sir. You appear to have exceeded your permitted allocation of functioning like a normal human being."

And here comes the penalty.

MS: because apparently driving a car for two hours counts as an extreme sport.

Still...

It wasn't anywhere near as bad as the last time I drove.

And I've been told that the more driving I manage, the easier and more familiar it should become.

From today's experience, I have to agree.

So that's actually another little victory.

I'll take those wherever I can bloody find them.

That's Enough Humaning for One Day

I'm going to keep this one relatively short because my brain has now started quietly packing its belongings.

Soon it will put an "OUT OF OFFICE" sign on my forehead and disappear somewhere behind my left ear until further notice.

But today was a good day.

Albertine's finger survives.

No amputation.

The pressure sore is improving.

I managed the 70-mile hospital expedition.

The van behaved.

The traffic lights apparently worshipped us.

And we even found a hospital parking space.

Frankly, that's enough miracles for one Friday.

So, to everybody reading this blog...

Humanoid.

Non-human intelligence.

Extraterrestrial.

Interdimensional lurker.

AI wondering why the hell it has been asked to proofread another story involving severed fingers and Multiple Sclerosis.

Or whoever — or whatever — you may be...

I send you all peace, healing, love and light.

May you have a truly magnificent weekend when it finally arrives on your doorstep.

And remember:

Sometimes success isn't climbing a mountain.

Sometimes success is simply getting home after a 70-mile hospital trip with your passenger still possessing roughly the same number of fingers she started the day with.

I'll take that.

Peace, healing, love and light to you all.

Warlock Dark

Written by Warlock Dark. Edited by Brain Fog. Sabotaged by Technology. Approved by one surprisingly resilient finger.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

****please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to help solve this issue so you can understand it ****

well a very good afternoon to all the readers of the blog, humanoids and nhi even.

Multiple Sclerosis does not always behave in the way medical leaflets suggest. Alongside the better-known symptoms, MS can cause crushing chest sensations, phantom itching, electric shocks, burning feet, swallowing difficulties, emotional outbursts and strange reactions to heat. This article explores the weird side of MS with medical context, lived experience and the dark humour needed when your nervous system starts inventing symptoms of its own.

Nobody Told Me MS Could Do That!

The Strange Symptoms That Make You Question Your Own Sanity

"Is this my MS... or have I finally lost the plot?"

If you've lived with Multiple Sclerosis for more than about five minutes, you've probably asked yourself exactly that.

One minute you're dealing with numbness.

The next you're convinced your ribs are being crushed by an invisible anaconda.

Then your feet feel as though someone has poured boiling water over them...

...except they haven't.

Welcome to the wonderfully confusing world of MS.

The disease doesn't read textbooks.

Neither does your nervous system.

While most people think MS simply causes weakness or difficulty walking, the reality is far stranger. Because MS attacks the brain and spinal cord, almost any neurological function can be affected, producing symptoms that sound completely unbelievable until you've experienced them yourself.

The MS Hug

Whoever named this symptom deserves a stern talking to.

There is absolutely nothing affectionate about it.

Imagine someone wrapping industrial ratchet straps around your chest and slowly tightening them.

Some people think they're having a heart attack.

Others feel they can't breathe.

The good news?

It's usually muscle spasms caused by damaged nerve pathways rather than damage to the heart or lungs.

The bad news?

It feels utterly convincing while it's happening.

The Itch That Doesn't Exist

This one drives people mad.

Your arm itches.

You scratch it.

Still itches.

Scratch harder.

Nothing.

Because the itch isn't coming from your skin.

It's coming from your brain.

Your nervous system has basically dialled the wrong number.

No cream.

No antihistamine.

No amount of scratching fixes a signal that's being generated by damaged nerves.

Electric Shocks Down Your Spine

You bend your neck.

ZAP!

It feels as though someone has connected your spine to the National Grid.

This is called Lhermitte's sign.

It lasts only seconds...

...but those seconds certainly get your attention.

Many people describe it as one of the strangest sensations they've ever experienced.

Laughing When Nothing's Funny

Or crying...

...when nothing is actually wrong.

This is called pseudobulbar affect (PBA).

It's one of the cruellest symptoms because people assume it's psychological.

It isn't.

It's neurological.

The emotional wiring between different parts of the brain has become disrupted.

Your emotions aren't fake.

They're simply being expressed at the wrong time.

My Feet Are On Fire...

Except...

They're freezing.

Or numb.

Or crawling with invisible insects.

MS has an extraordinary ability to invent sensations that make absolutely no logical sense.

Burning feet.

Ice-cold legs.

Pins and needles.

Buzzing.

Vibrating.

Many people spend years trying to explain these feelings.

The truth is...

Sometimes there simply aren't words for damaged nerve signals.

Suddenly You Can't Swallow Properly

One moment you're eating lunch.

The next your throat seems to have forgotten how swallowing works.

It can be frightening.

Swallowing is actually an incredibly complicated neurological process involving dozens of muscles and multiple cranial nerves.

MS can interfere with that communication, making food seem to stick or making swallowing feel strangely difficult.

Vision Has Its Own Sense of Humour

Hot bath?

Blurry vision.

Warm day?

Double vision.

Hairdryer?

Why not make the room wobble a little?

Heat temporarily slows already damaged nerve pathways, causing existing symptoms to flare. This phenomenon—called Uhthoff's phenomenon—doesn't usually mean new damage has occurred, but it can make old symptoms briefly worse.

The Invisible Symptoms Nobody Sees

Perhaps the strangest symptom of all...

Is having symptoms nobody else can see.

Brain fog.

Fatigue.

Pain.

Odd sensations.

People glance at you and say...

"You look really well."

Meanwhile your nervous system is holding what can only be described as a small electrical civil war.

Living With The Weird

One thing I've learned is this...

MS rarely asks permission.

It simply invents new ways of reminding you that the brain controls almost everything.

Sometimes it feels like an electrical fault in the universe.

Sometimes it's terrifying.

Sometimes it's absurd.

And sometimes...

All you can do is laugh, because if you don't, you'll spend your life trying to explain to people why your ribs are hugging you, your feet are on fire, your face is being electrocuted, and your throat has forgotten how swallowing works.

MS isn't just unpredictable.

It's the greatest practical joker your nervous system never wanted.

Final Thoughts

Living with Multiple Sclerosis means accepting that strange can become normal.

Wishing everyone who reads this blog , peace healing love and light !

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

**please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to help solve this issue so you can understand it **

Many thanks you everyone who reads my blog, I really appreciate that you take time out of your day to read my blog.. A massive thanks to everyone as I just realised I have been doing this a year now

What Kind of Person Am I ?

People often ask me what I actually believe.

Am I Wiccan?

Yes.

Am I Gnostic?

Yes.

Am I a Humanist?

Absolutely.

Some people see those ideas as contradictory.

I don't.

To me, they fit together like different pieces of the same puzzle.

Wicca Taught Me to Respect Nature

Not because nature is always kind.

Nature can be brutal.

Storms don't care about your feelings.

Disease doesn't ask permission.

Death keeps no appointments.

Yet there is beauty in the rhythm of it all.

The seasons change.

Life grows.

Life dies.

Then somehow, life begins again.

That deserves respect.

Not blind worship.

Respect.

Gnosticism Taught Me to Ask Questions

I've never been comfortable with anyone telling me what I must believe.

Questions matter more than certainty.

Who are we?

Why do we suffer?

Is consciousness more than electrical signals bouncing around a lump of grey matter?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

The search itself has value.

I'd rather spend my life asking difficult questions than accepting easy answers.

Humanism Keeps My Feet on the Ground

Whatever I believe about the universe, one thing remains certain.

People matter.

Kindness matters.

Compassion matters.

Critical thinking matters.

If your beliefs don't make you a better human being...

What's the point?

Multiple Sclerosis Changed Everything

MS stripped away the illusion that life is predictable.

It taught me that bodies fail.

Plans collapse.

Tomorrow is never guaranteed.

But it also taught me something unexpected.

Humour survives.

Sometimes laughter is the last act of rebellion left to us.

If I can't beat MS...

I can still laugh at it.

Sometimes I imagine the Devil chasing me down the road in a mobility scooter while I shout back, "You'll have to go faster than eight miles an hour!"

That isn't denial.

It's defiance.

Warlock Dark

Warlock Dark isn't an escape from reality.

He's the part of me that refuses to surrender to it.

The Wiccan magician.

The Gnostic seeker.

The stubborn human being who keeps getting back up, even when life keeps knocking him down.

He laughs in the face of suffering.

Not because suffering is funny.

Because refusing to laugh lets suffering win.

The Day My World view Changed

Last year I briefly died.

For a few seconds, there was only darkness.

No tunnel.

No voices.

No angels.

No guides.

Just silence.

I don't claim that proves anything about what happens after death.

It was my experience, and others have had very different ones.

But it changed me.

It made me wonder whether we spend too much time waiting for someone else to save us.

Maybe we carry far more responsibility than we like to admit.

We create.

We destroy.

We shape one another's lives.

We can lift people up.

We can break them down.

In that sense, perhaps the greatest power we possess isn't supernatural at all.

It's the power we have over each other.

That thought is both unsettling and strangely liberating.

So What Do I Believe?

I believe in respecting nature.

I believe in seeking wisdom instead of certainty.

I believe in compassion over cruelty.

I believe that laughter is a weapon against despair.

I believe that illness may change the body without defeating the spirit.

And I believe that if there is any real magic in this world...

It begins with how we choose to live, how we treat one another, and whether we have the courage to keep asking questions.

The rest?

The universe can keep its secrets a little longer.

sending everyone peace healing love and light, no matter who or where you are in this weird world of ours... I could write so much of my weird experiences, people would not believe what has happened to me in my life... no one ever listened to me more fool them, they sent me hate I send them love hahaha one things for sure nothings for sure, get MS get rid of friends who are assholes and family even, brothers, sisters, mothers, uncaring fuckers that’s for sure.. and then gain new friends who understand what you are going through and don’t judge because once you know you know... I have come to the conclusion the only people who understand me are others who are like me who are disabled with chronic illness ... it makes US different whether we have visible or non visible disabilities

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to help solve this issue so you can understand it lol

What Is My Living Hell

People often think this blog is about Multiple Sclerosis.

It isn't.

MS is simply the landscape.

This blog is about what happens when the landscape beneath your feet begins to move.

It's about discovering that your body and your mind aren't always in agreement.

It's about asking questions that neurologists don't pretend to answer.

Who am I when my legs refuse to walk?

Who is thinking the thoughts that my damaged brain struggles to express?

Is consciousness nothing more than electrical impulses, or is there something deeper quietly watching the chaos unfold?

I don't claim to have the answers.

Some days I lean towards neuroscience.

Other days I wander into Gnosticism, Wicca, Jung, quantum speculation, psychedelics, folklore, or the strange stories whispered around campfires.

Not because I think they replace medicine.

They don't.

MS deserves evidence-based treatment, and I would never suggest otherwise.

But while medicine explains what is happening to my nervous system, philosophy and spirituality help me ask what it means to live through it.

Somewhere between MRI scanners and ancient myths...

...between mobility scooters and mushroom circles...

...between neurologists and trickster spirits...

...I keep searching.

Perhaps that's what this blog has always been.

Not a search for a cure.

A search for understanding.

If you're willing to walk that path with me—however slowly—welcome.

Pull up a chair.

The kettle's on.

The universe is about to get weird.

Wishing all the readers of this blog, peace healing love and light.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.) This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS

X@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to help solve this issue so you can understand it lol

well a very good morning to everyone who reads this blog and hope that things go well and that you have an excellent weekend sending peace healing love and light...

Finding Magic in a Body That Sometimes Forgets

The Goddess never promised us perfect bodies.

She promised the turning of the Wheel.

Birth. Growth. Decline. Death. Then the mystery begins again.

As Wiccans, we celebrate the seasons because they remind us that nothing remains the same forever. The mighty oak stands tall in summer, sheds every leaf in autumn, sleeps through winter, and returns again in spring.

Perhaps our own bodies are simply another season of the Wheel.

Living with Multiple Sclerosis can feel like your own body has declared war upon itself. The nerves misfire. The muscles rebel. Fatigue arrives like an unwelcome spirit, settling over everything until even making a cup of tea feels like climbing a mountain.

From a medical perspective, MS is an autoimmune disease. That understanding matters, and modern medicine has brought treatments that can slow its progress and improve quality of life.

But medicine isn't the only language people use to understand suffering.

For many Wiccans, illness is not a punishment from the Goddess, nor proof that we've somehow failed spiritually. Nature itself is full of storms, broken branches, lightning strikes, and trees that grow twisted yet continue reaching for the sun.

Why should humans be any different?

When I light a candle, I don't expect it to cure my MS.

I light it because even the smallest flame pushes back the darkness.

When I walk through the woods, I don't believe the trees can repair damaged myelin.

But they remind me that life continues, even when it changes shape.

When I celebrate Lammas, Samhain, or Beltane, I'm not pretending my symptoms disappear.

I'm remembering that I'm still part of something much older than my diagnosis.

The Wheel keeps turning.

Some days my body feels like winter.

Everything slows.

Everything hurts.

Nothing grows.

Other days are spring.

Energy returns, if only for a few precious hours.

I have learned not to curse the winter.

Without it, I would never recognise spring when she arrives.

Perhaps magic isn't about making disease disappear.

Perhaps the greatest spell we ever cast is refusing to let illness define who we are.

The Goddess is present in the healthy body.

She is equally present in the scarred one.

The God walks with the marathon runner.

He also walks beside the person moving at eight miles an hour on a mobility scooter.

Neither path is holier than the other.

Both are sacred.

If MS has taught me anything, it is that strength isn't measured by how far we can walk.

It's measured by whether we choose to keep walking the Wheel, however slowly, however painfully, and however differently from what we once imagined.

Blessed Be.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

twitter@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ