A Letter from Multiple Sclerosis: Looking at the Life It Destroyed

⚠️ 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 ☣

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