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⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️
please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it
Dear Past Me: Here’s What MS Will Actually Be Like
Dear Past Me,
Sit down.
Actually, enjoy being able to do that without calculating whether you'll be able to get back up again.
We need to talk.
You're going to hear two words:
Multiple Sclerosis.
And you're going to be frightened.
You're going to imagine wheelchairs.
You're going to imagine hospitals.
You're going to Google things you absolutely should not Google at two o'clock in the morning.
But here's what nobody will properly explain.
MS won't simply be one enormous dramatic thing.
It will be thousands of tiny ridiculous things.
So I'm writing from the future with some useful information.
You're welcome.
YOU THINK FATIGUE MEANS “TIRED”
Oh, sweet summer child.
You think tired means:
"I could do with an early night."
That's adorable.
MS fatigue is more like somebody has quietly removed your batteries, filled your bloodstream with concrete and increased Earth's gravity by approximately 300%.
You can wake up tired.
You can become tired from showering.
You can become tired from getting dressed.
You can even become tired from resting because apparently resting is now an activity.
People will suggest getting more sleep.
Try not to kill them.
YOU'RE GOING TO FORGET WORDS
Not complicated words.
Not photosynthesis or existentialism.
Normal words.
Spoon.
One day you'll be standing in the kitchen saying:
"Where's the... you know... food shovel?"
And the terrifying thing is that you'll know exactly what the object is.
Your brain simply won't provide the label.
You'll eventually become fluent in a new language called:
THINGY.
YOUR BODY WILL BECOME A HAUNTED HOUSE
Random pain.
Buzzing.
Burning.
Tingling.
Numbness.
Electric shocks.
Muscles moving without permission.
Parts of you feeling freezing when they're warm.
Other parts feeling like they're on fire when they're not.
You'll eventually stop saying:
"What the hell was that?"
You'll just say:
“MS.”
It's quicker.
YOUR BLADDER WILL BETRAY YOU
Remember when needing the toilet was merely a suggestion?
Enjoy that memory.
Future bladder communication will occasionally resemble:
YOU HAVE FOUR SECONDS.
You will develop an extraordinary superpower.
Whenever you enter an unfamiliar building you will immediately locate:
- The toilet.
- The route to the toilet.
- Obstacles between yourself and the toilet.
- Potential witnesses should the mission fail.
Jason Bourne has nothing on you.
PEOPLE WILL SAY ASTONISHINGLY STUPID THINGS
"But you look fine."
"Everyone gets tired."
"Have you tried yoga?"
"Maybe you need to think positively."
You'll discover that chronic illness apparently grants random strangers honorary medical degrees.
Do not worry.
Eventually your sarcasm becomes extremely efficient.
YOU WILL GRIEVE
This bit isn't funny.
There will be times when you miss the old you.
The person who could simply decide to do something and then...
do it.
Without calculating energy.
Without planning toilets.
Without wondering whether the legs will cooperate.
Without needing recovery time afterwards.
You'll grieve abilities.
Plans.
Freedom.
Spontaneity.
Parts of your old identity.
And that's alright.
Because grief doesn't mean you've surrendered.
It means something mattered.
BUT SOMETHING ELSE WILL HAPPEN
You'll change.
Not into one of those inspirational poster people standing heroically on a mountain at sunset.
Fuck that.
You'll become stranger.
Darker.
Funnier.
More adaptable.
You'll learn that independence doesn't necessarily mean doing everything without help.
You'll learn that mobility aids aren't surrender.
You'll learn that cancelling plans isn't a moral failure.
You'll discover people who understand without needing the entire bloody explanation.
You'll become remarkably good at finding humour in situations that objectively shouldn't be funny. Because sometimes the choice really is:
Laugh.
Cry.
Or do both while desperately searching for the nearest accessible toilet.
YOU WILL STILL BE YOU
This is the part I wish somebody had told us.
MS will change things.
Some changes will be small.
Some may be enormous.
But diagnosis doesn't suddenly erase the person underneath.
You're still going to laugh.
Still swear.
Still love.
Still get angry.
Still make terrible decisions.
Still have ridiculous ideas.
Still find things beautiful.
Still be interested in things that have absolutely nothing to do with Multiple Sclerosis.
You aren't going to become MS: The Person.
You're still you.
Just with considerably more neurological bullshit.
So, Past Me...
When those words finally arrive, you're allowed to be frightened.
You're allowed to be furious.
You're allowed to grieve.
But don't assume the story ends there.
It doesn't.
It simply becomes a much stranger book.
And one day you'll discover something nobody mentioned at diagnosis:
You can take something utterly shit and still laugh directly in its face.
Love,
Future You
(Still here. Still fighting. Still swearing.)
Warlock Dark
Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS
This Is My Life With MS ☣
