Multiple sclerosis is My Living Hell

Chronic Illness Humour

All posts tagged Chronic Illness Humour by Multiple sclerosis is My Living Hell
  • 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 proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

    A raw, darkly funny and unapologetically personal take on living with Multiple Sclerosis. Symptoms, fatigue, mobility, brain fog and the absurdity of everyday MS life.

    Chapter One: Congratulations, You've Been Promoted to Professional Liability

    Welcome to the blog.

    If you're reading this, chances are you've either been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, know somebody who has, or you've accidentally wandered in while looking for recipes.

    If it's the latter, the Yorkshire pudding recipe is in another universe.

    For the rest of us...

    Welcome to the club that nobody wanted to join.

    Membership benefits include:

    • Randomly falling over for no obvious reason.
    • Forgetting what you walked into a room for.
    • Being permanently exhausted despite achieving absolutely nothing.
    • Discovering that your own immune system has become your full-time stalker.

    There are no loyalty points.

    There is, however, a lifetime supply of unsolicited advice.


    Rule Number One

    The first thing you'll discover is that everyone suddenly becomes a neurologist.

    Your neighbour recommends turmeric.

    Your aunt swears by celery juice.

    Some bloke on Facebook says crystals cured his cousin's hamster, so clearly they'll repair your spinal cord.

    Smile politely.

    Then continue taking the medication invented by people who actually went to medical school.


    Rule Number Two

    Never Waste Good Symptoms

    MS is incredibly creative.

    One day your leg works.

    The next day it's merely decorative.

    Sometimes your hand forgets it's attached to you.

    Occasionally your tongue joins a witness protection programme.

    Enjoy the mystery.

    It's like opening an advent calendar designed by Satan.

    You never know what's behind today's little door.


    Rule Number Three

    Accept That Your Brain Runs on Rural Broadband

    People ask...

    "What's wrong?"

    Nothing.

    I'm simply waiting for Windows 98 to finish loading.

    My thoughts are arriving one packet at a time.

    Estimated completion...

    Three to five working days.


    Rule Number Four

    Master the Ancient Art of Looking Fine

    You'll hear this sentence approximately 47,000 times.

    "But you look so well!"

    Thank you.

    You also look like someone who hasn't just fought their own nervous system before breakfast.

    Appearances can be deceptive.

    Like politicians.

    Or supermarket sandwiches.


    Rule Number Five

    Become One With Furniture

    Experienced MS sufferers know every bench within a five-mile radius.

    You don't choose routes by scenery.

    You choose them by available seating.

    That suspicious-looking wall outside the chemist?

    Luxury.


    Rule Number Six

    Your Mobility Scooter is Now a Mythical Beast

    This isn't a mobility scooter.

    It's a steel horse.

    A dragon with indicators.

    A noble mechanical steed that bravely carries you into battle...

    ...at a legally restricted 8 mph.

    The Hells Angels nod respectfully.

    Mostly because you've blocked the pavement.


    Rule Number Seven

    Never Trust a Good Day

    A good day is wonderful.

    It is also suspicious.

    Don't ask questions.

    Simply enjoy it while your nervous system isn't paying attention.

    Tomorrow it may remember you're having fun.


    Final Advice

    People often apologise because they don't know what to say.

    Don't worry.

    Neither do we.

    We forget halfway through the sentence anyway.

    If there's one thing MS teaches you, it's that life doesn't always make sense.

    So laugh anyway.

    Laugh because the disease hates it.

    Laugh because the alternative is giving it all the best lines.

    And if your legs refuse to cooperate...

    At least your sense of humour still knows where it's going.

    Probably.

    wishing 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 ☣

    twitter@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk
    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 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
    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 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
    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
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  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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.

    The things you joke about that make outsiders squirm, but insiders nod, laugh, and maybe choke on their tea.

    Let’s face it: survival isn’t just about dragging your diseased carcass through another day. It’s about keeping your mind sharp enough to still stab at the absurdity of it all with a rusty spoon. Outsiders look at me and think, “That’s a bit much.” Insiders the ones who actually live with the daily grind of illness, disability, or the general circus of existence just snort, because we know the truth: dark humour is the only anaesthetic that doesn’t wear off.

    We joke about wheelchairs doing handbrake turns, and about our bodies being more unreliable than a 40-year-old washing machine that screams like a banshee and still doesn’t spin. about death knocking on the door and us telling it to sod off because the takeaway hasn’t arrived yet. And yes, it makes people uncomfortable. Good. That’s the point. If your laughter doesn’t come with a side of guilt, is it really worth laughing at?

    Dark humour isn’t cruel. It’s currency. It buys us moments of control when life’s stripped us bare. And for those who say, “You shouldn’t joke about that” congratulations, you’ve just outed yourself as a tourist. The rest of us are residents. Permanent. Non-refundable. And we’ll keep laughing in the waiting room of the apocalypse, thanks very much.

    Relevant Afternoon AI Thought If AI ever truly “understood” dark humour, it wouldn’t be because it learned to laugh — it would be because it learned to suffer. Until then, it’ll just be politely chuckling at our funeral jokes while secretly wondering if it should file a bug report.

    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
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  • Posted on

    ⚠️ 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.

    Ah, brain fog. That delightful little feature where your mind suddenly feels like it’s been filled with cold treacle and you can’t remember the name of the person you’ve been married to for 20 years. Or whether you actually had lunch… or just thought about it really hard.

    What It Is In scientific terms, cognitive dysfunction means your brain’s processing power has taken a long weekend without permission. It can affect memory, focus, problem-solving, and that delicate social skill of not blurting out something wildly inappropriate.

    In lived experience terms, it’s that moment you stare at your kettle wondering why the hell your phone charger won’t fit into it.

    Causes Chronic Illness – MS, ME/CFS, fibromyalgia, autoimmune fun, and anything else ending in “-itis” can bring brain fog as a bonus prize.

    Fatigue – Mental or physical exhaustion turns your brain into that Windows 95 PC your uncle swore “was fine until last week.”

    Medication Side-Effects – Because why just fix one thing when you can break another?

    Stress & Anxiety – Fight-or-flight mode is great for escaping lions, less useful for remembering your online banking password.

    Hormonal Swings – Menopause, thyroid issues, or just the monthly “I hate everything” cycle.

    Symptoms Words that escape mid-sentence like startled pigeons.

    Reading the same sentence five times and still having no clue what it says.

    Forgetting why you walked into a room (it’s never for anything good).

    Thinking slower than dial-up internet.

    Why It’s Not ‘Just Being Tired’ People without brain fog love to tell you “Oh, I forget things too!” Yes, Sharon, but you don’t lose the ability to spell your own surname halfway through writing it.

    Brain fog isn’t about being a bit sleepy. It’s about your entire mental operating system running on one bar of battery and 57 background processes you never asked for.

    Coping Strategies (Sort Of) Lists – Post-its, phone reminders, writing on your hand… whatever keeps the chaos contained.

    Pacing Yourself – Which really means doing one thing, then lying down in a dark room regretting it.

    Accepting Help – Even if it’s from people who think you’re “just being lazy.”

    Humour – Laughing about it doesn’t fix anything, but it makes the slow mental collapse less depressing.

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

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