Multiple sclerosis is My Living Hell

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⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

About Me

Old soul. Frayed nerves. Unapologetically alive.

I don’t write to comfort. I write to tell the truths polite company avoids — illness, silence, being forgotten, and what’s left of you when life strips everything else away.

I live with Multiple Sclerosis, but MS isn’t the whole story. It’s just the predator wearing a different mask each day. What matters is what survives underneath: humour, rage, ritual, memory, and the stubborn spark that keeps me writing.

I don’t do politics. Not left, not right, not the endless shouting match in between. Pain doesn’t care how you vote, and neither do I. This space is human, not political.

I write like I live — between worlds. One foot in the everyday (wheelchairs, hospitals, the fridge humming at 3 a.m.), the other in something older and stranger. Sometimes I call that Mithra’Kael, the Bound Flame: archivist, witness, survivor. It’s the name I use when my body fails but my words don’t.

This blog is part journal, part ritual, part middle finger to a world that tries to polish pain into something palatable. Here you’ll find MS stories without the PR gloss, family ghosts, dark laughs, and the small, fierce moments that cut through the noise.

There’s love in here too, buried under the salt and ash — but you’ll have to sit with the dark to find it.

If you’ve ever been told you’re “too much,” “too complicated,” or “not enough,” you’ll fit right in. Step carefully. The veil’s thin here, and I see straight through.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᚹᚨᚱᛚᛟᚲ ᛞᚨᚱᚲ ✦ 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ ᚨᛗᛟᚾᚷ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱᛋ
@goblinbloggeruk sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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 afternoon to all you humanoids, NHI, and everyone who reads this blog. A massive happy, soon to be August. Well, it's rather a sad day today. Albertine went to the doctors and yes, she has to have her finger amputated. Yes, she has to go to the plastic surgery department in the next few days and they will be doing the finger removal. This is indeed a major sadness and let's hope she gets well soon. This is a different slant on multiple sclerosis through a gnostic eye. Hope you enjoy it.

    When the Body Becomes the Prison

    There are mornings when my body feels less like a home and more like a prison cell.

    The locks are invisible.

    The bars are made of nerves.

    The wardens have names like fatigue, pain, brain fog, and spasticity.

    Welcome to Multiple Sclerosis.

    Modern medicine tells us that MS is an autoimmune disease in which the immune system mistakenly attacks the protective covering around nerve fibres. That explanation matters. It guides treatment and helps us understand what's happening inside the body.

    But there is another question medicine doesn't try to answer:

    What does it mean to live inside a body that no longer obeys you?

    The ancient Gnostics wrestled with a different kind of problem. They saw the material world as a place of limitation, confusion, and suffering. Whether or not you agree with their worldview, they asked a question that still echoes today:

    What if we are more than our bodies?

    Living with MS has a strange way of separating the observer from the observed.

    My mind says, "Stand up."

    My leg replies, "No."

    My thoughts remain clear while my words disappear halfway through a sentence.

    The will is present.

    The machinery isn't.

    It is as if the true self sits behind the controls of a damaged vehicle.

    The driver remains.

    The steering has failed.

    The Gnostics believed that beneath the confusion of the physical world lies a deeper reality that cannot be injured by disease.

    MS can damage nerves.

    It cannot damage compassion.

    It cannot destroy love.

    It cannot erase curiosity.

    It cannot touch the quiet part of us that still looks at the stars and wonders why we are here.

    Perhaps that is a kind of gnosis.

    Not secret knowledge hidden in dusty scrolls.

    But the realisation that we are not defined solely by what our bodies can or cannot do.

    Some days I feel trapped inside failing biology.

    Other days I catch glimpses of something larger.

    A sunset.

    A piece of music.

    The laughter of someone I love.

    For a moment the prison walls become transparent.

    The body remains ill.

    The spirit remains free.

    That is not a cure.

    It is not an escape.

    It is simply a reminder that disease does not have the final word about who we are.

    Perhaps the greatest act of rebellion against suffering is refusing to believe that suffering is all there is.

    If there is such a thing as gnosis, perhaps it begins there.

    Not in certainty.

    Not in miracles.

    But in recognising that even when the body falters, the search for truth continues.

    And perhaps...

    The search itself is freedom.

    Hoping that you enjoyed this blog article, yes it was different. It was a multiple sclerosis, as seen through a gnostic lens. My next post will be seen through a wicca lens. It's quite an interesting thing. Anyway, wishing everybody who reads this blog, peace healing, love and light, and wishing you a most fantastic weekend when it arrives on your doorstep.

    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.)

    @goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk
    𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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 it reads ok

    Breakthrough in MS Research How Overloaded Brain Cells Accelerate Disease Progression

    When the Brain’s Clean-Up Crew Becomes Part of the Crime Scene The human brain has its own microscopic waste-disposal service. These cells, known as microglia, clear away damaged tissue, swallow debris and generally attempt to stop the central nervous system from resembling the aftermath of a particularly unsuccessful demolition project. Unfortunately, multiple sclerosis rarely allows anything useful to remain useful for long.

    New research published in Nature Neuroscience has linked lipid-filled “foamy microglia” with expanding lesions and faster progression in secondary progressive MS. These immune cells appear to consume large quantities of damaged myelin—the fatty insulation surrounding nerve fibres—before becoming bloated, metabolically disturbed and increasingly incapable of processing what they have swallowed. In other words, the brain sends in the clean-up crew, the clean-up crew eats the wreckage, and then the clean-up crew becomes additional wreckage. An efficient system, provided the objective is chaos.

    A groundbreaking study has uncovered a critical mechanism behind the rapid worsening of multiple sclerosis (MS). Researchers discovered that in patients with aggressive MS, immune cells in the brain—called microglia—become so overloaded with damaged myelin fat that they transform into dysfunctional “foamy microglia.” Instead of aiding repair, these cells worsen inflammation and hinder recovery, offering a new lens through which to understand and potentially treat the disease.

    The Problem: When Helpers Become Harmful

    Microglia act as the brain’s cleanup crew, removing debris and supporting tissue repair. But in MS, the sheer volume of damaged myelin (the fatty insulation around nerves) overwhelms them. As they engulf excessive lipid droplets, they morph into bloated, foam-like cells that lose their ability to function. This overload triggers a cascade: chronic inflammation flares, tissue repair stalls, and neurological decline accelerates.

    A Molecular Red Flag

    The study, published in Nature Neuroscience, analyzed brain tissue from 28 MS patients. Using cutting-edge spatial technologies, the team mapped gene activity, protein expression, and fat concentrations within lesions. They found that areas packed with foamy microglia had unique molecular signatures—specifically, destructive lipid profiles that fuel persistent inflammation. These lipids may also leak into cerebrospinal fluid, offering a potential biomarker for early detection of high-risk patients. Beyond Inflammation: A Metabolic Culprit For years, MS was viewed primarily as an inflammatory disease. This research challenges that notion, revealing that metabolic failure—specifically, the inability of microglia to process lipids—plays a pivotal role in disease progression. The discovery aligns with emerging therapies targeting lipid metabolism, some of which are already in clinical trials with Roche.

    Hope for Personalized Treatment

    The findings pave the way for two major advancements:

    Early Prediction: By measuring specific fats in cerebrospinal fluid, doctors may soon identify patients at risk of rapid decline before severe symptoms appear. Targeted Therapies: Drugs designed to regulate lipid metabolism could halt lesion expansion and slow disease progression, offering a more tailored approach to treatment. Why This Matters MS affects each patient differently some experience mild symptoms for decades, while others face swift, severe disability. This study helps explain why. By pinpointing the role of foamy microglia, researchers are not only deepening our understanding of MS but also opening doors to more precise, effective interventions.

    Promising Science But Not a Treatment Yet

    This research does not mean that doctors can currently test every person with MS for foamy microglia or prescribe a convenient anti-foam tablet before lunch.

    The possible cerebrospinal-fluid biomarkers still require further validation, and the experimental treatment targeting the MAGL enzyme has so far been tested in a mouse model of demyelination not in people with MS.

    Nevertheless, the study offers an important new direction. It suggests that progressive MS may involve more than conventional inflammation alone. Problems with lipid processing, cellular waste disposal and microglial metabolism could help explain why certain lesions continue expanding while others repair.

    That could eventually lead to better ways of identifying people at risk of faster progression and treatments aimed at restoring the brain’s overwhelmed clean-up cells before they become part of the neurological crime scene.

    For those of us living with MS, “promising but early” is a familiar phrase. We shall therefore place this discovery carefully on the enormous shelf labelled Potentially Brilliant Things Science Must Now Finish Properly.

    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.)

    @goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk
    𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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. AI helps with written content or it would be a hard confusing read

    Good morning, afternoon fellow humanoids and NHI...

    ...and a warm welcome to anyone who has accidentally wandered into this corner of organised neurological chaos.

    Today's public service announcement is aimed at the healthy population.

    Don't panic.

    Nobody is asking you to perform brain surgery.

    Nobody expects you to memorise the immune system.

    You simply need to master the incredibly difficult skill of opening your mouth without your brain immediately taking annual leave.

    Apparently this is harder than it looks.

    Living with Multiple Sclerosis means you hear the same comments over...

    and over...

    and over...

    until eventually you're tempted to fake your own death simply to avoid hearing them again.

    So, in the interests of humanity, here is...

    A Beginner's Guide to Talking to Someone With MS Rule One

    If you don't understand MS...

    don't explain MS.

    This sounds obvious.

    Apparently it isn't.

    "But you look well."

    Thank you.

    So did the Titanic before it hit the iceberg.

    MS doesn't come with flashing lights, smoke pouring from your ears or a zombie complexion.

    Most of us become Olympic-standard actors.

    We're experts at pretending everything is fine while our nervous system quietly conducts a house fire behind the scenes.

    Looking well simply means we've become very good at suffering discreetly.

    "My aunt's neighbour's dog walker had MS..."

    Fantastic.

    Did they also have my MRI?

    My lesions?

    My nervous system?

    My medical history?

    No?

    Then we're probably comparing completely different diseases that merely share the same name.

    MS is like snowflakes.

    Except instead of being beautiful and festive...

    every one tries to ruin your life differently.

    "Have you tried yoga?"

    No.

    Because clearly twenty years of neurologists somehow overlooked stretching.

    You've done it.

    You've solved neurology.

    Somebody call Stockholm.

    The Nobel Prize committee are waiting.

    "Maybe it's stress."

    Yes.

    Having a brain that occasionally forgets how legs work can be a little stressful.

    Excellent observation.

    "Everything happens for a reason."

    If the reason involves my immune system trying to assassinate my spinal cord...

    I'd quite like to have a word with management.

    "At least it's not..."

    Stop.

    Just...

    stop.

    Pain isn't the Olympics.

    Nobody wins the gold medal for suffering.

    There is no podium.

    No national anthem.

    No commemorative tea towel.

    "You should stay positive."

    I do.

    Most days.

    Other days I discover my left leg has resigned without giving notice.

    Positivity doesn't repair damaged myelin.

    If it did, the NHS would simply prescribe motivational posters.

    "You don't need that mobility scooter."

    Correct.

    I bought it because I enjoy being overtaken by pensioners pushing shopping trolleys.

    Nothing says freedom quite like crawling uphill at four miles an hour while traffic forms a small county behind you.

    "You're too young to be disabled."

    You're too old to be saying something that stupid.

    "Have you tried this miracle supplement?"

    Ah yes...

    the mysterious powder discovered by somebody's cousin on Facebook.

    Amazing how the entire neurological community somehow missed this miracle cure that's apparently available for £39.99 plus postage.

    Things You CAN Actually Say

    "I'm sorry you're having a rough day."

    "I'm here if you need anything."

    "Would you like me to carry that?"

    "Fancy a cuppa?"

    Congratulations.

    You've just demonstrated more emotional intelligence than half the internet.

    Final Thoughts

    People rarely mean to be hurtful.

    Most simply don't know what to say.

    Unfortunately...

    many decide that not knowing what to say is an excellent reason to say absolutely everything that falls out of their mouth.

    Living with MS isn't about wanting sympathy.

    It's about wanting people to realise that invisible doesn't mean imaginary.

    Some days we're walking.

    Some days we're limping.

    Some days we're rolling around on mobility scooters pretending we're auditioning for Mad Max: Disabled Road Warriors.

    The illness changes.

    The symptoms change.

    The pain changes.

    The fatigue changes.

    What never changes...

    is how refreshing it is when somebody simply treats you like a human being instead of a medical mystery wrapped inside an inspirational Facebook quote.

    Until next time...

    Try not to accidentally cure anybody with yoga.

    The neurologists get terribly upset.

    Final Thought

    If you've got MS, share this with somebody who means well but accidentally speaks before engaging their central nervous system.

    They might just learn something.

    still peace healing love and light to all who read this blog

    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.)

    @goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk
    𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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 this may be a confusing read. AI help with written content

    Good morning, fellow humanoids, NHI, accidental visitors and whatever else may be reading this blog from behind the veil.

    It is Saturday morning, so I wish you all a happy weekend or at least a weekend involving fewer neurological catastrophes, unreliable taxis and near-death descents on mobility equipment than mine.

    Yesterday was a Friday from hell.

    Admittedly, it eventually developed into a rather pleasant Friday afternoon, but only after spending the morning enthusiastically dragging me through several circles of Dante’s accessible parking area.

    The MS Curse Awakens

    I woke at my usual time of six o’clock with the entire left-hand side of my body giving me its customary warm welcome.

    By “warm welcome”, I mean terrible pain.

    The sort of pain that makes opening your eyes feel like an administrative error.

    My blood pressure had also decided to explore the lower levels of human survival. I felt dreadful before getting out of bed, and considerably worse once I attempted the ambitious medical procedure known as “standing up to get some food”.

    I remember thinking:

    Well, this is a promising start.

    It was clearly going to be one of those days when my body cancelled all scheduled activities without consulting management.

    I took my prescribed medical cannabis and THC/CBD oil. I also had vitamin D with K2, vitamin C and magnesium.

    Gradually, things began to improve or at least retreat from “immediate exorcism required” to “possibly fit for limited public viewing”.

    My head still felt as though it had been posted to another dimension and was being repeatedly struck with a cosmic mallet.

    Then came the existential dread.

    People often tell you to remain positive. This is excellent advice when your nervous system is not behaving like a condemned Victorian electrical installation.

    Sometimes positivity is possible.

    Sometimes your brain merely replies:

    Absolutely not. Today we shall stare into the abyss.

    I call it the MS Curse.

    It is the strange natural law by which every carefully arranged plan is immediately attacked by pain, fatigue, dizziness, spasms, brain fog or some entirely new symptom released as part of the latest neurological update.

    Taxi? Did Somebody Call a Taxi?

    The previous day, Albertine had booked a taxi to collect us at 11:30 and take us to the tattoo studio for my midday appointment.

    At 11:30, we were outside the bungalow waiting.

    There was no taxi.

    At 11:40, there was still no taxi.

    By 11:45, the taxi had apparently entered the same mysterious dimension as my functioning nervous system.

    Albertine telephoned the company and was told that the driver was still around half an hour away. They could not reach us for at least another twenty minutes.

    My appointment was at twelve.

    Marvelous.

    This was especially inconvenient because Albertine had almost chopped the top of her finger off on Tuesday. It had been left hanging on by a small piece of skin, which is generally considered a poor condition in which to operate a motor vehicle.

    She had already needed treatment from the plastic-surgery team and was therefore unable to drive.

    I was feeling dreadful and could not safely drive either.

    The taxi company, meanwhile, had apparently adopted the philosophical position that time is merely a social construct.

    I became rather angry.

    I had been trying to arrange this tattoo for a long time. I had finally found the right tattooist, and I did not want to waste her time or fail to turn up.

    There was only one option left.

    Unfortunately, it had three wheels.

    My Saviour: The Three-Wheeled Trolley of Death

    We went into the garage and unplugged the three-wheeled scooter of death from its charger.

    I looked at it.

    It looked back at me.

    Possibly.

    I had around ten minutes to reach the tattoo studio.

    “Please,” I thought, “do not let me down today of all days.”

    I climbed aboard, pulled the throttle back and unleashed the full, terrifying fury of approximately eight miles per hour.

    Off I went.

    Not so much roaring down the road as trundling towards destiny with a shopping basket.

    I must have looked completely demented: a wobbly man hurtling through the streets on a three-wheeled mobility scooter, travelling at top speed while simultaneously going nowhere particularly quickly.

    It was the slowest high-speed pursuit in British history.

    Somehow, despite feeling dreadful, I reached the tattoo studio at around twelve o’clock.

    The trolley of death had not missed a beat.

    I parked it outside with a wry smile.

    For once, a piece of equipment in my life had performed exactly as intended.

    Naturally, I found this deeply suspicious.

    At the Tattoo Studio

    I climbed off the scooter and walked into the studio with the help of my stick.

    I was extremely determined.

    I was also extremely wobbly.

    Each step carried the exciting possibility of an unscheduled meeting with the floor. Thankfully, it was only a short distance, although being knocked over outside the shop would have added a pleasingly dramatic final act to the morning.

    The tattooist greeted me warmly and immediately put me at ease.

    She was friendly, gentle and extremely knowledgeable. The entire experience was fantastic and one of the most pleasant things I have done in a long time.

    The tattoo itself is amazing.

    Honestly, it is perfect.

    She was so gentle that I barely felt a thing. Of course, when you already have reduced sensation in your hand, getting tattooed becomes one of the few occasions when neurological numbness comes with a customer benefit.

    It felt like little more than a faint pinch.

    Things have changed considerably since my last tattoo. The equipment and techniques have moved forward, and I was surprised by how calm and comfortable the whole procedure was.

    After a morning dominated by pain, low blood pressure and transport incompetence, sitting in a tattoo studio somehow became the restful part of the day.

    Life is peculiar like that.

    Going Home: Oh Dear God

    I left the studio, climbed back onto the three-wheeled trolley of death and admired my new tattoo.

    It looked absolutely awesome.

    There was no pain. No trouble. Nothing.

    For a brief and dangerous moment, I believed things were going well.

    Then I attempted to go home.

    The road from the tattoo studio leads down a fairly steep hill. Unfortunately, I took the wrong turning and became completely lost.

    I spent around ten minutes riding in circles, wondering where the hell I was.

    Everything looked the same.

    Every building appeared to have been copied and pasted by a bored simulation designer.

    I eventually went up a slight incline, believing it would lead to the main car park.

    It did not.

    Instead, it delivered me to the top of a narrow and extremely steep hill, barely wide enough for one car.

    I asked a nearby woman for directions to the main car park.

    She looked at the hill.

    She looked at my scooter.

    Then she looked at me with the unmistakable expression of someone preparing to become a witness.

    She explained that the hill was extremely steep and seemed genuinely uncertain whether I would reach the bottom safely.

    This was reassuring.

    As regular readers may know, the brakes on the three-wheeled trolley of death are not its strongest feature.

    They are less “precision braking system” and more “polite written request to reduce speed”.

    Nevertheless, down I went.

    Slowly.

    Precariously.

    Possibly accompanied by the distant laughter of Death, who had apparently taken the afternoon off but was still checking his emails.

    Somehow, I reached the bottom without overturning, colliding with anything or becoming a local-news item.

    From there, I found the car park and eventually made my way home.

    A Friday of Two Halves

    The day began with terrible pain, low blood pressure, neurological misery and the familiar feeling that MS had torn up my plans for its own amusement.

    Then the taxi failed to appear.

    Albertine could not drive because of her injured finger.

    I was forced to race through town at eight miles per hour on a three-wheeled mobility scooter.

    I got my tattoo.

    I became lost.

    I descended a hill on brakes apparently designed by someone who disliked disabled people.

    And somehow, I got home safely.

    All in all, it was quite an experience.

    The morning came directly from hell.

    The afternoon, unexpectedly, was rather lovely.

    And the three-wheeled trolley of death?

    It performed magnificently.

    I may have to promote it to Three-Wheeled Trolley of Mildly Reckless Salvation.

    But let us not get carried away.

    It still has those brakes.

    Survival Report Pain: ★★★★☆ Brain Fog: ★★★★★ Near-Death Experiences: 2 Taxi Reliability: -3/10 Scooter Heroics: Legendary Humour Level: Still Operational.

    Today's Lesson: Never trust a taxi. Always trust the Three-Wheeled Trolley of Death. MS doesn't make appointments... it cancels them.

    wishing everyone peace healing love and light no matter who you are

    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.)

    @goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk
    𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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 this may be a confusing read. some AI help with written content Hello fellow humanoids,nhi and readers of my blog ! There's a special place in social interaction reserved for people who hear the words I have Multiple Sclerosis and immediately transform into a neurologist, motivational speaker and wellness guru all at once. You don’t look sick. Have you tried yoga? You just need to stay positive. It's almost beautiful. Almost.

    Living with MS means learning to navigate relapses, fatigue, pain, brain fog, medications, hospital appointments and the occasional argument with your own legs.

    What it shouldn't mean is having to politely smile while someone explains how a gluten-free smoothie apparently knows more than your neurologist.

    So, in the interests of public education—and preserving what's left of our patience—here are ten phrases we'd happily launch into the sun.

    1. "But You Don't Look Sick."

    Oh, thank God.

    I was worried I'd accidentally left my "Chronically Ill" name badge at home.

    What exactly does illness look like?

    Should I drag an IV stand behind me?

    Carry an MRI scan in Tesco?

    Wear a flashing sign that says,

    "WARNING: MY IMMUNE SYSTEM HAS CHOSEN VIOLENCE."

    Invisible illnesses don't stop existing simply because they're inconvenient for spectators.

    Neither does common sense, although social media continues to test that theory.

    2. "Have You Tried Yoga?"

    Yes.

    I've also tried medication.

    Physiotherapy.

    Exercise.

    Rest.

    Different diets.

    Mindfulness.

    Supplements.

    Swearing.

    Crying.

    Questioning the universe.

    Believe it or not, most people living with MS spend considerably more time managing their condition than strangers spend thinking about it.

    Yoga can help some people.

    It is not the magical password that causes autoimmune diseases to politely pack their bags and leave.

    3. "At Least It's Not Cancer."

    Ah yes.

    The Chronic Illness Olympics.

    Where apparently suffering must be ranked on a leader board.

    Pain isn't a competition.

    Neither is disability.

    Nobody wins because somebody else has it worse.

    That's like telling someone whose house is on fire,

    "Could be worse...

    ...the neighbour's exploded."

    Technically true.

    Still unhelpful.

    4. "You're Too Young."

    Tell that to my immune system.

    It clearly didn't read the age requirements.

    MS commonly appears in younger adults.

    Autoimmune diseases aren't checking passports before causing trouble.

    5. "My Friend Has MS And They're Fine."

    Excellent.

    My neighbour owns a goldfish.

    That tells me absolutely nothing about sharks.

    No two cases of MS are identical.

    Some people run marathons.

    Some need walking aids.

    Some work full-time.

    Others can't.

    Comparing people with MS is like comparing weather in Britain.

    Completely unpredictable and usually disappointing.

    6. "You Just Need To Stay Positive."

    Wonderful.

    Why didn't decades of neurological research think of that?

    Someone ring every hospital immediately.

    We've solved autoimmune disease.

    Positivity helps mental wellbeing.

    It does not magically repair damaged myelin.

    If optimism cured neurological conditions, the NHS waiting lists would disappear overnight.

    7. "Google Says..."

    Stop.

    Google also says I have seventeen rare cancers every time I search for a headache.

    Search engines are fantastic.

    For recipes.

    Maps.

    Cat videos.

    They are not neurologists.

    Nor should they be trusted over the person who spent fifteen years becoming one.

    8. "You Were Fine Yesterday."

    Correct.

    Yesterday I also remembered where I left my keys.

    Today?

    Different story.

    MS symptoms fluctuate.

    Some days are manageable.

    Some days feel like walking through wet concrete while someone repeatedly presses the low-battery warning in your brain.

    That's the nature of the disease.

    It doesn't ask permission before changing the rules.

    9. "You Don't Need That Disabled Parking Space."

    Ah yes.

    The Disability Inspector has arrived.

    Armed with absolutely no qualifications.

    Not every disability involves a wheelchair.

    Not every mobility issue is visible.

    Not every painful journey begins when you step out of the car.

    Some begin before breakfast.

    Mind your own trolley.

    10. "Everything Happens For A Reason."

    Really?

    Go on then.

    Explain autoimmune disease.

    I'll wait.

    Some things happen because biology occasionally decides to throw a spectacular tantrum.

    Not every illness has a hidden lesson.

    Sometimes terrible things simply happen.

    The lesson comes afterwards—in resilience, humour, kindness and learning to laugh because crying gets exhausting.

    Honourable Mentions

    These narrowly missed the Top Ten:

    • "You should try this miracle supplement."

    • "My aunt cured hers with celery juice."

    • "Have you prayed about it?"

    • "It's probably stress."

    • "Maybe you're just getting older."

    • "You're so brave."

    (Translation: "I genuinely have no idea what else to say.")

    The Reality

    Most people who say these things aren't cruel.

    They're uncomfortable.

    They don't know what to say.

    Unfortunately, not knowing what to say often results in saying something spectacularly ridiculous.

    Here's a radical alternative.

    Instead of offering advice...

    Ask.

    Instead of assuming...

    Listen.

    Instead of explaining someone else's illness to them...

    Don't.

    It's astonishing how effective silence can be when it's paired with compassion.

    Final Thoughts

    MS doesn't need your miracle cure.

    It doesn't care about your Facebook research.

    It certainly isn't interested in your cousin's chiropractor.

    What people living with MS actually need is understanding.

    Patience.

    Accessibility.

    And perhaps—just perhaps—a world where strangers stop believing they've completed medical school because they once watched a wellness documentary narrated by someone who also sells detox tea.

    Until then...

    We'll keep smiling.

    Mostly because if we don't laugh at the nonsense...

    We'll end up throwing herbal supplements at people.

    And honestly?

    Those things are expensive.

    wishing everyone no matter 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.)

    @goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk
    𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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 this may be a confusing read. AI help to make it less confusing

    A Rough Morning That Set the Tone for the Day

    Well, a very good morning to you all..humanoids and NHI out there who are reading my blog today.

    This week has been one I’d quite happily forget. It all started off well enough: I was sitting in my computer chair, which isn’t that old, when I suddenly heard a loud crack. Before I knew it, I was on the floor—the back of the chair had completely given way. I’m not exactly that heavy, and the chair wasn’t even five years old, so I do wonder what sort of quality it was. It must have been rubbish.

    The Painful Consequence

    The result? A completely wrecked back that’s now incredibly painful.

    A Series of Small Disasters

    Albertine went into the garden to trim the bushes and somehow managed to almost cut her finger off. It was hanging on by what felt like a thread, so we drove to our local hospital, where they bandaged it up before referring her to the main Hospital to see a plastic surgeon.

    That meant another early start. Of course, having an early appointment doesn’t help when the hospital parking is a nightmare. We left two hours before the appointment, yet it still took us twenty minutes to find a parking space. Unbelievable… and that was only 8:30 am.

    The Road Trip in Discomfort

    To make matters worse, I had to drive. I hadn’t taken any medication so I’d be safe behind the wheel, but I felt absolutely dreadful. I haven’t driven much recently, and I really wasn’t looking forward to an 80‑mile round trip while feeling like I did.

    My autonomic dysfunction was in full swing. I had the familiar pain running down my left-hand side from my throat all the way down through my digestive system. At least I know what’s causing it the vagus nerve and the autonomic dysfunction that comes with my MS. It sounds completely crazy to anyone who hasn’t experienced it, but unfortunately it’s become part of my life.

    The “Trolley of Death” Delay

    Meanwhile, my new four‑wheeled “trolley of death” is still waiting for its DVLA registration documents. It drives beautifully, but I can’t legally take it on the road until all that’s sorted.

    A Cautionary Tale of Care and Compassion

    As I sat waiting in the hospital car park while Albertine saw the plastic surgeon, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. The injury was nasty, and because it went right down to the bone, there’s no knowing how long her recovery will take. Thankfully it was her left hand rather than her right, but life is going to be quite different over the next few weeks.

    Albertine also lives with rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, so she’s not exactly in the best of health anyway. It looks like we’re both in for a difficult few weeks.

    The Lack of Support

    To top it all off, our carer won’t be coming during the school holidays. Six weeks without that support. Oh joy…

    A Heavy Load of Physical and Emotional Strain

    I’m really not feeling well at the moment. Between the autonomic dysfunction, severe histamine reactions, and everything else, it’s becoming exhausting.

    On a stranger note, the weirdness continues. There have been more lights and orbs around the house, and I’ve spoken to other people who have seen the same “sepia” type beings and the same liminal shapes that I’ve been seeing. We’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps it’s something to do with the way my brain is wired. Maybe my MS and the changes in my nervous system allow me to notice patterns that most people simply don’t see.

    A Long Career, A New Reality

    As many of you know, I’ve been a psychic reader for many years and worked professionally for over thirty years alongside running my own computer and website business. Looking back, I honestly don’t know how I managed it sometimes. The constant changes in technology and legislation were exhausting. I’m certainly glad I’m retired now, even if living on the State Pension means every penny has to be watched.

    The Rising Cost of Living

    The cost of living is becoming ridiculous. Food prices are unbelievable, electricity costs are frightening, and fuel isn’t much better. I honestly don’t know how many people are surviving. Last winter we barely put the heating on because we simply couldn’t afford it.

    How Do I Feel About Everything?

    To be honest… I’m mightily fed up. When I look back over my life, it often feels as though I’ve taken one step forward and three steps back. But despite all of that, I can honestly say I’m still a happy man. I love my wife. I love my children. Those things matter more than anything else.

    I do notice, however, that my emotions are changing. It’s becoming harder to express how I feel. My empathy is still there, but it’s different somehow, almost muted. Whether that’s age, illness, or simply years of fighting, I honestly don’t know.

    At 67, I’m realistic about life. None of us knows how long we’ve got left, so I try not to dwell on it too much.

    If anyone reading this feels depressed after reading it, please don’t. Life is still worth living. Sometimes you just have to adapt and keep moving forward.

    A History of Accidents and Triumph

    Looking back, I’ve had more than my fair share of accidents. I’ve broken both shoulders, broken nearly every toe, collected cuts where I really shouldn’t have collected cuts, and generally done a good impression of someone who has upset the gods of balance.

    But there is another side to the story.

    Since being diagnosed with MS, I’ve actually achieved more than I ever thought possible. I went to university, became a teacher in adult special education, built and ran my own business for over twenty years, and kept fighting every single day.

    Oddly enough, I sometimes wonder whether I’d have achieved those things if I hadn’t developed MS. The disease challenged me every single day, and perhaps that’s what drove me to keep proving to myself that I could still do things.

    People who don’t have MS will never truly understand what it’s like. The pain. The muscle spasms. The brain fog. The memory problems. The exhaustion. The strange sensations. The feeling that your own nervous system has declared war on you.

    Yet somehow, even on one of my worst days, I still found myself driving my wife to hospital because that’s simply what needed to be done.

    A Moment of Reflection

    Right now I feel dreadful. I’m in pain, my mouth tastes of metal, and my head feels very strange. But such is life.

    One thing I am grateful for is AI. On days like today, when my brain simply won’t cooperate, I can dictate everything into my phone, let AI untangle the mess, and somehow end up with something that resembles a blog post. It’s become a genuinely useful tool for helping me communicate when my MS refuses to let my brain do the job properly.

    Closing Wishes

    So, wherever you are in the world, whoever you are, I wish you peace, healing, love, and light. And remember…

    Take things easy.

    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.)

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