Disability Life

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes very 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.

hello fellow Humanoids So it's Friday afternoon and I'm looking out of the window and the rain and the wind is howling absolutely everywhere. Well, the outcome of this week has been okay I suppose. The AA man came out and he put the new battery on our rusty one. And then we were told the starter motor is iffy. So rusty one needs a recondition starter motor. Oh the joys. Rusty old vans I should know and then there's all the other bits and pieces that have to be done with it as well. The weather here and the salt air really doesn't do the van any favours but it has to be done I suppose.

Still, I've got a list of exercises from my physiotherapist to be doing to help. That was an interesting morning for sure, doing all that, as we got the dates wrong, and that was funny as well. Yeah. We thought it was the 28th and it wasn't. We got it wrong, oh dear me, never mind. But it all got sorted out. And I have a list of exercises I have to do in the mornings and evenings. So there we go, that should help with not getting to muscular atrophy as they call it I think.

Since I am no longer putting what I write through the artificial intelligence, I don't know whether this is a good or a bad thing or not. Do people want my raw voice? As it comes on the paper, spelling mistakes and all the other murdering of the British language that I do. Order people want me to put what I do through the AI and make it sound a bit more flowery and a bit more nice and a bit more sanitized. What do people want the bitter truth? Or do they want sanitisation? This is what I ask myself.

This blog isn't about having millions of people looking at what I have written and what I'm going through. It's about maybe two or three people reading it and finding some sort of help in my life, in my madness that is me. And if it helps people or a few people that's what it's all about in the end. I now have Missy the kitten looking at me and viewing as though to say, feed me please.

Still, it's now Saturday morning and it is absolutely chucking it down with rain. The clouds are dark as can be. It's just so unreal. Again today my head feels like a big pea souper. But there we go. I woke up in the night with the usual left hand side pain. When those nerves start going, my God there is no let up. And the pain is absolutely unbelievable. It's all to do with the way. I know this is not a good thing to talk about how the feces lies in the colon or the tube leading to the bum.

And all the nerves are up from my anus all the way up to the top of the throat. So all my nerves are like atomic bombs going off. So, as the poo goes through the tubes, it's nuclear bombs, you know what that's like. And the only way the pain ever really dulls down is when you've had a poo. And that's if you can have a poo, because nine times out of ten with all the medications, a lot of people find that constipation is a really, really bad side effect to a lot of modern day medications.

So, the thing is, you need to hydrate like crazy really. You need to drink a lot and take lots of nice fibre. I know. I tried all the medicines or the things to make you go, things to make you stuff. I've tried and been down the chemists and the doctors for all these problems, but I managed to sort most of it out myself by the change of diet, which has completely got rid of any constipation, and now I go regularly every morning without fail. I put this down to my total change of diet due to my histamine issues with my auto-monic dysfunction and my multiple sclerosis and the vagus nerve etc so I am on a limited diet.

So yes, just a basic flatbread with what? Four Or five ingredients? That makes all the difference. And I've managed to have it tailored to my specific tastes and needs. And my word, it really does work. No more constipation issues and going like a gooden as they say here. I will put a recipe up for the flatbread at some time. So you can see what you can put in it and how good it is for you. My word it, does an half change your stomach and your gut. I haven't felt this stomach good in absolutely years. My acid in my throat and stomach has stopped. It's unbelievable the changes.

Still, I hope you don't find this too boring, but yeah, it's been a bit of a bitch of a week and it's been very expensive. Rusty One now has to have a new starter motor, which, well, let's face it, is gonna cost. Still, I have my appointment for to go to see my new power chair. Yes, that apparently is in February, so I look forward to that. A nice three hour round trip. Why, they couldn't do that at my local hospital. Well, I do now. Do now. No. So there we go. Still, that's it from me and it might be more interesting next time round. But until then, sending everybody peace, healing, love and light, no matter whom or whatever or wherever you are in whatever universe or multiverse or place.

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

⚠️ 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.

So we had the storm. Oh my god, the rain came down like a torrent that you would not believe. It was like Revelation and Armageddon the way that rain came and the way the wind just blew and blew. I could just hear everything clanging and just smashing around outside. I just hope when I go outside later in the power chair that it's nothing too expensive. But such is life when you are living in the Windy south West. A lot of trains have been cancelled and a lot of buses as well. But that's normal around here. And there's power cuts everywhere. That's also normal around here. But they don't last that long, thankfully.

So I also had the local physio around yesterday and he assessed me so that assessment should be interesting, very nice chap indeed, all sorted. Just waiting now for the other people to get in touch with me, hospitals and doctors, etc. I shall give it another couple of days and then I suppose I'm going to have to make some phone calls and see where we are. Or I suppose emails be better. There's nothing like having me on the other end of the phone when I'm in one of my cognitive funks. And I can't think of words. There's nothing more annoying than that I get really annoyed. as when you're trying to find simple words like, I don't, I can't give an example really, but just simple words or sentences or you change what you were talking about midway through and people can't follow what you're talking about sometimes and you find cognitively that you are all over the place. That's what I'm like these days and I have been for quite a long time and I think a lot of people don't realise just how common this is with multiple sclerosis and severe cognitive disorders in general.

So, I have found a bowel hack for MS. Basically, I found that I have been having made for me a flat bread made with all natural ingredients. Natural strong brown flour, you know, a little bit of olive oil, a bit of salt, a bit of yeast, blah blah blah mixed together. And then put on a griddle, blah blah blah with a load of ground linseed in. Now, the hack is linseed makes all you're pooping easier. There is no need for me to take laxatives or to have any gut wrenching medications to make me go. I had so many bowel issues they nearly gave me a colostomy bag, and I said no. And I'm glad I said no to the colostomy bag because I sorted my own issue out.

When you realize with MS, the nerves in the body cause your bowels to get totally fucked up, which causes issues with urination and also with pooing. I have spent most of my life with bowel issues due to MS and that auto whatever it is I've got wrong with me and I can tell you I have never had a period of time where my pooing has been so good and with this complete change of my daily food intake diet making sure there are no histamines in the food I am at last not having bad stomachs acid and I've managed to get my gut health back to some sort of personal semblance so for me personally changes have been long but I now know what I can and cannot eat so I am like a forensic scientist going through a piece of food looking at it seeing what's in it the whole nine yards so yeah diet is so important with chronic illness I did not realize food causes so many issues when you look into it it's an absolute minefield but if I'd have sorted my diet out 20 or 30 or even 40 years ago I don't think I would be as bad as I am now truthfully It's not just looking at labels either. What I've been doing is I've been putting the label through the AI and it's been giving me the total truth on the ingredients and what they do to my autonomic dysfunction in my MS and the causes and how it makes things worse. So yeah, I've gone down to a forensic level on my food diet and I've also done that with my medications as well that I take.

I take nothing that will give me any side effects as unfortunately if there's a side effect on the packet, I get it. You know, my body is hypersensitive due to my condition. But there we go, who would have thought that MS could have caused my heart conditions that I have? You wouldn't. But when your vagus nerve and your automatic or ortomunic dysfunction is going berserk due to histamines, you know, it causes heart issues. I didn't know that, but people, please, please remember this is my own personal journey and remember if you have any symptoms or any weirdness, see your physician or your neuro people or your MS nurse or whomever you speak to. Seek professional help always. Remember that.

And remember MS is a very, very, very scary journey. Anybody who says is not, is a liar. MS has been very scary for me. It's a massive headfuck. It really does fuck with your head and your cognitive issues, you know, the pain, everything. It really does send your head into some very, very strange places. And even I admit here now that it has caused me mental issues and I have even had to seek help due to this. So if you are suffering in any way, you really do seek help. It is something that a lot of people don't talk about. But yes, I have had mental health issues over the last past eight years and I say to people, get help because help is something that will get you out of a place that you have got no need to be in. MS is a cruel mistress, as I say, but don't let it beat you. Always fight it. Treat MS as something that is just plain horrible and just fight it tooth and nail for everything that you are worth. Give it a run for its money like I do.

I try not to let it beat me. Even when you are at your worst, even when you are at your lowest point, even when the pain is so bad that you want to give up, even though everything is crushing you, stick your middle finger up to the MS and say, "Stuff you bastard, you're not going to beat me." Be positive, fight the illness, I know I have for the past 40 odd years, and yeah, it's been hard, it's been harsh, but I tell you what, I wouldn't change my life for anything now, because life is to be lived and it is to learn, and what I have, I accepted a long time ago, and I know my future isn't bright or brilliant, but I've accepted what and who I am.

Yes, I may be marmite man and have no friends, I may say what I think, and I may have a tinfoil hat on, and I may say strange things, and I may see things, but I'm just being me. Hey, let's all just be ourselves .... because we have all had to change our lives and we have all had to adapt in many ways because of our illnesses and the adaption is hard. Yes it is, but we eventually do get there, we eventually do change the way we do things and we change our lives to a life that a person, a normal person wouldn't even recognise. So yeah, we give up everything really, we give up friendships, lives, normal lives, we get looked at funnily, we get laughed at when we're in a wheelchair, get called names even. But I don't really care about all that. I just care about myself and my close family and Albertine. I care about our future and happiness.

Still I send peace, healing, love and light to everyone who reads this and wish them a pleasant weekend when it arrives and let's hope the weather calms down in the southwest of England. Oh yes, and I'm still stuck indoors, still waiting to phone up the AA so I can get rusty one started up so I can take myself down to the wheelchair centre in February and trial out my new wheelchair. The saga goes on but I wouldn't have it any other way.

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

⚠️ 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.

Still, it's Tuesday afternoon and the ice is still here. It's absolutely everywhere. We were speaking to one of the delivery drivers this morning and they were saying that the roads are treacherous all around us at the moment. So even if I wanted to go out, I couldn't. I'm trapped in by the icy cold roads and what seems to be some sort of weird ice storm. I've never really known Frost like it on a car, winscreen. No, no, it was absolutely thick as you like. Albertine put a whole tin of the deicer and it didn't shift it. So the upshot was, we didn't end up going to my appointment at the hospital because we were stuck here with no vehicles because we're still trying to sort out the AA for Rusty One. Hopefully he should be sorted out soon. And yes, apparently next month I get to go and try out these new wheelchairs. So that's awesome news indeed.

It is just so cold here. It's like living in a refrigerator With the door open and the light on for warmth. It is that freaking cold Yes, it's making my whole body ache It's just doing things that I don't like really I don't really want to talk about it. But what I do want to talk about is yeah this going mad stuff and the things that I am seeing and What people are telling me? So I'm going to put a breakdown of over the years what has happened to me on a post blog post here and then we're gonna see if anybody can say hey, I've had an experience like that or Yeah, I think it is MS You know, I think it is to do with your communic dysfunctional whatever it's called I am in that cannot be asked mode today as well, which isn't very good. The tinnitus has died down for a change. So that's good. My eyesight is starting to feel a lot better. And I'm starting to make a very slow recovery back to the well to hopefully what I was a month or so ago. I am still waiting for the neuro people to get in touch with me from the new hospital but it is Christmas after all and I'm still waiting for the doctors to get in touch with me for all my cardio results so that also should be very interesting as well

So I suppose my biggest concern is what is going on around me with my mental health maybe. These things that I am seeing and that I am hearing, I have spoken to many people and I keep saying this and I need to speak to people who have had similar experiences but I am not finding anybody who has yet to want to speak to me about these experiences. So if there is anybody who reads this I really would be interested in speaking to you on a personal level about this. Still, that's it from me. Take care everybody and remember I just forgot.

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

⚠️ 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.

There are days with MS… and then there are those days the days where your entire nervous system decides to re-enact a flea circus on a hot tin roof.

So let me paint the scene for you:

I Am a Kitten. A Flea-Infested Kitten.

Not a majestic panther. Not a sleek predator. No. A tiny, confused goblin-cat with an arse like a bonfire and fleas having a rave on my spine.

I’m sprinting around the imaginary room crashing into furniture, tripping over nothing, having a full cosmic meltdown because the fleas/MS won’t stop chewing on every nerve ending like they’ve paid for an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Lights flickering. Shadows being weird. Brain fog thick enough to butter toast with. Hallucinations just to keep things spicy.

Everything MS can throw at me it throws all at once.

And there I am, this poor invisible kitten of doom, doing laps like I’m possessed by 15 demons and a Red Bull sponsorship. Things fall off shelves. Air becomes lava. Reality breaks down like a cheap knock-off mirror in a funfair.

MS as Fleas

Imagine your entire body itching in places that don’t exist. Imagine the fleas having meetings about unionising. Imagine scratching your own soul because everything feels wrong.

That’s MS. Tiny bastard parasites gnawing at the wires of your meat suit.

The Choice

So here’s the question:

Would I rather be a flea-infested kitten with an itchy bum? or Would I rather be a 66-year-old strapped to a power chair with MS chewing on my circuits?

Answer?

I’ll take the MS and the grumpy realism, thanks. At least I don’t have to lick my own arse to feel clean.

Fleas? No chance. I’ve been bitten enough by life as it is.

Besides a kitten with fleas is chaos. A man with MS in a power chair? That’s controlled chaos. A battle-hardened wizard rolling through hell’s hallway giving death stares to anyone who gets in the way.

Moral of the Story

MS is the fleas. You’re the kitten. Some days you sprint. Some days you hide. Some days you crash into the coffee table and take the lamp with you.

But you’re still here. Scratching. Surviving. Snarling. And somehow laughing at it all.

Because the alternative? Nah.

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

⚠️ 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.

Boilers, Breakdowns, and Bloody Brain Fog

I don’t even know where to start. Maybe with the words “what a bastard of a weekend.” Everything that could go wrong decided to queue up and take its turn.

Let’s begin with the boiler. It decided to imitate Niagara Falls water everywhere, floor soaked, no heat, no hot water. Great start. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, the shower gave up the ghost too. Bang. Dead. The whole house became a cold-water museum.

Then came the van. My beloved van. We were on the A30, just by the slip road, when Albertine noticed the injector went. One second fine, next second it’s dead weight in the middle of moving traffic. Hazards flashing, adrenaline spiking, and me thinking this is how it ends taken out by a Vauxhall Astra doing seventy. Albertine showed her amazing driving skills not phased by this.

Then, out of nowhere, a police car pulled up. The officer calm, soaked to the bone, but kind got cones out, blocked traffic, and stood there in the rain keeping us safe. Not a word of complaint, not a flicker of irritation. Just a proper human being doing his job with quiet grace. I can’t tell you how much that meant. That man was an anchor in chaos.

Then came the AA. The man could’ve just towed us off and left it at that. But no. He got right in there, sleeves up, fuel injector changed right there, towed to a safe service station off the A30. Professional, calm, and genuinely cared that we were okay. He didn’t have to go that extra mile, but he did and that’s what makes people like him the backbone of this broken country.

All this time, poor Yopi sat in the van, nervous as hell, shaking. It broke my heart. I tried to make it work, but sometimes love isn’t enough. She was too anxious, too reactive, and for a bloke like me in a wheelchair, it was too dangerous. Saying goodbye to her felt like a little death. I hope she finds peace and comfort with someone who understands her better.

By the end of it all, the boiler’s still broken, the shower’s still buggered, and I’m £2,000 deeper in debt. The tinnitus screams like a banshee in my skull, and my brain fog’s so thick I could get lost in my own hallway.

But and it’s a big but there were good people this weekend. The copper who stood in the rain to keep us safe. The AA man who refused to give up. The workers who came out, late, cold, tired, but still tried to fix what they could. In a world full of empty talk, they did. And that’s worth writing about.

So yeah, I’m bruised, broke, and battered but grateful. Sometimes the universe doesn’t send angels; it sends ordinary people in high-viz jackets.

Warmth at Last From breakdowns and boiler floods to a bit of blessed heat

Monday midday, and for the first time in what feels like forever we’ve got heat. The boiler’s fixed, the shower’s replaced, and the house actually feels alive again. No more cold damp air biting at the bones. No more washing like a caveman with a kettle. Just warmth. Real, glorious warmth.

I can’t thank the people who showed up enough. They didn’t just fix pipes and wires they fixed a bit of faith. There are still people out there who genuinely give a damn. Who turn up, in the rain, in the cold, when things go wrong not for glory, not for money, but because they care.

This weekend from hell taught me something unexpected. Kindness still exists in the cracks of this mad world. When everything went wrong, people stepped up the police officer who stood out in the downpour, the AA man who wouldn’t give up, and the repair crew who brought warmth back into my home.

You all changed my mind about a few things for the better. You reminded me that not everyone’s out for themselves, that decency hasn’t completely gone extinct.

So yeah, I’m tired, sore, and skint but I’m sitting here in the warmth, and for the first time in days, that feels like victory.

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

⚠️ 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.

Yes, folks nxt week it’s going to be mind-bending. I’m starting a weekly podcast. A weekly rant. A weekly therapy session disguised as sarcasm.

And the first episode? My favourite subject: wheelchair batteries. You know, those little lying bastards that promise 14 miles on the label but wheeze to a stop after one? Then you’re stuck halfway to nowhere, looking like an abandoned mobility meme.

It’s going to be short, sharp, dark, and real about MS, mental health, and the ridiculousness of surviving the system one dead battery at a time.

So yeah, that’s My Living Hell. No filters. No fake smiles. Just the truth, swearing included.

🎧 Episode 1 drops next week. If you’ve ever been stranded, broken, or laughing through the pain you’ll fit right in.

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

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

⚠️ 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.

it’s Wednesday no its Thursday dam. We’re off to the dentist with Albertine. A thrilling day out, I know. The trip’s about three-quarters of an hour, which is more than enough time for chaos to ferment nicely.

Yopi my four-legged partner in crime is already vibrating with excitement. She doesn’t care that the van looks like it’s one pothole away from being declared a historical ruin. She clambered into the back like she owned the place, strapped in with her little doggy seatbelt, ready for action. And yes, she’s got her tripe treats. Because if you’re going to travel in style, you’d better smell like death warmed up.

We’re cruising along at a decent pace, avoiding the craters the council call “roads.” Not too many today someone’s actually patched them. Miracles do happen. Just as I’m thinking this journey might be civilised, Yopi lets one rip.

It’s not a polite little toot. No. This is a full-scale biological attack. Windows down. Albertine’s gone a shade somewhere between pistachio and hospital corridor. I’ve got my head halfway out the window, tinnitus roaring like a broken radio I can’t switch off. No mute button for my skull.

And then… she farts again. Absolute carnage. I now officially smell like a rolling dog treat. Honestly though it’s hilarious. And weirdly, sitting there choking on Eau de Bulldog while my head screams, I felt… calm. Maybe “calm” is too strong. “Temporarily distracted from my own internal apocalypse” is more accurate.

Sleep’s been scarce. The pain’s still here that burning, tingling bastard that starts low and just ramps up like it’s auditioning for a horror soundtrack. My keyboard’s finally given up on me too. “E”, “A”, “S”, “D” gone. Worn out by my furious bashing. A casualty of war.

Meanwhile, my throat’s decided to re-enact a slow strangulation act. MS never runs out of party tricks.

Then it hits me. Seventy isn’t that far off. And the thought makes my stomach sink. I’ve got no friends left. They’re either dead, disappeared, or just couldn’t hack the fact that my head and body have changed. Wheelchair. Pain. Brain fog. That’s the reality. Illness strips you naked in ways no one warns you about. It makes people quietly step back. Like grief, but you’re still bloody here.

I miss the old me. He was loud. Misunderstood. A bit of a legend, actually. And now he’s gone. MS didn’t just change my body it erased someone I used to know.

And in those quiet moments, when the tinnitus is screaming, the van smells like Yopi’s digestive crimes, and the world feels indifferent… I think about death. Not in a poetic way. In a “one day I won’t wake up and that’ll be that” way.

And I wonder what exactly am I supposed to be learning from this slow burn?

MS, you absolute bastard.

Some afternoons hit differently. The sun hangs low, the world trundles on, and I sit here smelling faintly of tripe treats realising that existence is equal parts absurdity and ache. And somehow, in the middle of all that, I’m still here.

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

⚠️ 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.

So, chronic illness. A joyride through hell in a wheelchair made of barbed wire. If you’re in the club, I don’t need to tell you it’s exhausting, absurd, and sometimes the only option left is to laugh before you cry yourself into a flare.

Here are 10 “fun” facts about chronic illness that might make you laugh, groan, or throw something.

1. The “Invisible” Magic Trick I’m fine. I look fine. Until I’m not. My body does the disappearing act of a Vegas magician, minus the applause. Cue the genius asking: “But you don’t look sick?” You’re right, Sherlock. Neither does Wi-Fi, and yet here we are.

2. Chronic Illness Is Weirdly Popular Statistically, over half of adults have at least one chronic condition. That’s right, 50% of people are secretly walking (or limping) into the club. Pity the membership perks are rubbish.

3. Genetics: The Family Heirloom No One Wanted Some families pass down houses, jewellery, or good bone structure. Mine passes down arthritis and dodgy immune systems. Cheers, ancestors.

4. The Bonus Round: Mental Health It’s not just your body. Chronic illness takes your mind out back and kicks it around too. Depression, anxiety, stress it’s like getting the “deluxe” package nobody ordered.

5. Cure? Ha. Science is trying, bless them. But for now, it’s all “management.” Basically, we live in the land of trial-and-error self-care. Sometimes exercise and kale help. Sometimes they just remind you that life is a cruel joke.

6. Lifestyle as a Job Description Managing your health is like being a houseplant with trust issues. Food, light, water, stress control. Do it right and you might thrive. Do it wrong and you wilt in public.

7. Predictability? Never Heard of Her. You plan a nice day? A flare hears you and says, “Not on my watch.” Your body is basically a toxic relationship: charming when good, brutal when bad.

8. Personal Growth, Whether You Like It or Not You get tough, resourceful, and annoyingly self-aware. Like a Jedi, but with a stick instead of a lightsaber. Independence? Optional. Asking for help? Necessary.

9. Tech Symbiosis Welcome to cyborg life. Fitbits, apps, pill alarms machines have become my sidekicks. My body rebels; my tech tattles. Together, we’re barely functional.

10. You’re Not Alone It feels isolating, but the internet is crawling with people who get it. Forums, Facebook, Reddit, Insta tribes they exist, and they’ll make you feel less like a freak in the void.

Closing Thoughts Chronic illness isn’t fun. It’s savage. It rips your plans apart, laughs in your face, and occasionally ruins your life for sport. But it also forces you to find humour in places most people would rather look away from. That’s resilience. That’s survival. And if nothing else you’re not alone in the madness.

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

⚠️ 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.

Pets and Mental Health

Let’s be honest: when you’ve got MS, or any chronic delight that chews through your brain and body like a rat in a cereal box, you need a bit of backup. Enter pets. They’re either the reason you cling to sanity… or the reason you’re face-planting on the carpet because your bulldog “accidentally” herded you into the coffee table.

Companionship and Emotional Support

Unconditional Love: Which really means they love you because you smell like food and have opposable thumbs. Still, it beats human relationships half the time.

Routine and Responsibility: Feeding them, walking them, remembering to let them out before they piss on the carpet — structure, baby. Sometimes that’s the only structure MS lets you have.

Stress Reduction

Physical Touch: Stroking a cat reduces stress. Stroking a dog reduces stress. Stroking a hedgehog raises questions.

Distraction from Worries: Watching your cat fail to jump on the sofa is cheaper than therapy and about as effective.

Recognizing Emotional Changes

Behavioral Cues: Dogs sense when you’re sad. Cats sense it too, but only so they can sit directly on your bladder until you cry harder.

Encouraging Activity: Dogs make you move. Cats make you a static heating pad. Either way, your muscles get a workout — voluntary or not.

Mood Enhancement

Joy and Laughter: A dog chasing its tail. A cat chasing nothing. Both are funny until you remember they probably think the same thing watching you.

Social Interaction: Walking a dog = conversations with strangers. Owning a cat = conversations with yourself. Both keep you just sane enough not to hit anyone.

Pets will either:

Save your mental health.

Destroy your house.

Remind you that death comes for all of us (but first for the goldfish).

Still, between the fur, farts, and emotional chaos, they’re usually worth it. Unless you’re allergic. Then it’s just asthma and regret.

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

⚠️ 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