Multiple sclerosis is My Living Hell

living with MS

All posts tagged living with MS by Multiple sclerosis is My Living Hell
  • Posted on

    🎗️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.🎗️

    please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

    🎙️ MY LIVING HELL — PODCAST EPISODE 3 IS HERE! 😈

    This one goes down some very strange roads...

    I talk about adoption, how people react when you tell them you have MS, trauma, being mentally tortured and beaten, being trafficked, and some of the very strange things I've experienced — blue and white orbs, liminal spaces and objects, voices, my past experiences as a psychic, a shadowy female figure that appeared to have a huge black panther with her, and the weird cats I've seen around the house.

    And yes... I ramble.

    Because apparently that's what happens when I enter the wonderful world of brain fog. 😂

    It's raw. It's personal. It's sometimes dark. It's sometimes bloody strange.

    But it's my experience and my story.

    ☠ Please take note of the trigger warning before listening. ☠

    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 🎗️

    Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms email warlock@mylivinghell.co.uk
    𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ
    enter image description here

  • Posted on

    🎗️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.🎗️

    please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

    Congratulations on Your Multiple Sclerosis!

    Thank you for choosing MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™.

    You didn't actually choose it, obviously.

    It arrived without being ordered, cannot be returned, has no warranty and customer services appear to consist mainly of someone saying:

    “We'll see you again in six months.”

    Your MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ package may contain:

    • One unreliable nervous system
    • Several mysterious symptoms
    • A bladder with independent political ambitions
    • Brain fog
    • Fatigue
    • Random pain
    • Questionable balance
    • Various pharmaceutical products
    • Approximately 47 hospital letters
    • And one leaflet featuring suspiciously cheerful people walking through a meadow

    Batteries not included.

    Actually, batteries may have been the first fucking thing to go.

    Welcome to the unofficial instruction manual.


    IMPORTANT SAFETY INFORMATION

    Before operating your body, please read these instructions carefully.

    Failure to follow the instructions will make absolutely no difference because your nervous system isn't reading them either.

    Symptoms vary enormously between people with MS, so your particular model may behave completely differently from somebody else's.

    This is apparently considered a feature rather than a manufacturing defect.


    STEP 1: ASSEMBLE YOUR SYMPTOMS

    Tools Not Included

    Upon opening your MS package, you may discover a seemingly random selection of components.

    These can include:

    Fatigue Battery permanently displaying 14%.

    Brain Fog Words may disappear without warning.

    Tremor Coffee transportation system compromised.

    Spasticity Muscles operating under their own management.

    Pain May appear in locations where absolutely nothing appears to be wrong.

    Dizziness Floor and ceiling occasionally exchange responsibilities.

    Bladder Problems Warning system may activate approximately four seconds before catastrophe.

    Numbness Useful when you don't want sensation.

    Less useful when you actually fucking do.

    IMPORTANT:

    Your symptoms may change, disappear, return, mutate or invite several friends around without prior notice.

    Do not attempt to understand this.

    Neurologists have machines for that and they're still scratching their heads.


    STEP 2: IGNORE THE “INVISIBLE ILLNESS” COMMENTS

    Your MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ model may look deceptively normal from the outside.

    This can cause members of the public to malfunction.

    Common error messages include:

    “But you look fine!”

    Thank you.

    My nervous system will be delighted to hear that.

    “You don't look disabled.”

    Excellent. I'll inform the lesions.

    “Everyone gets tired.”

    Yes.

    And everyone gets headaches.

    That doesn't mean everyone has a fucking brain tumour.

    “You were alright yesterday.”

    Correct.

    Yesterday was yesterday.

    This is apparently how time works.

    “Have you tried thinking positively?”

    No.

    I've been deliberately thinking negatively because apparently that's what destroys myelin.

    Thank God you've arrived.

    Recommended response:

    Smile.

    Nod.

    Imagine hitting them with the inspirational leaflet.

    Continue with your day.


    STEP 3: ACCEPT THAT YOUR BODY IS NOW A HAUNTED HOUSE

    Welcome home.

    Lights flicker.

    Things creak.

    Doors don't work properly.

    Strange noises occur at 3 a.m.

    Occasionally something touches you when absolutely nothing is there.

    Congratulations.

    You are now living inside Neurological Amityville.

    Random burning sensation?

    Ghost.

    Electric shock down your spine?

    Ghost.

    Foot suddenly feels freezing despite being perfectly warm?

    Definitely ghost.

    Leg starts vibrating?

    Poltergeist.

    Mystery stabbing pain in your left arse cheek at 2:17 a.m.?

    We don't discuss what lives in the basement.

    The important thing is not to panic.

    Eventually you become accustomed to saying:

    “That's new.”

    ...and then carrying on making tea.


    STEP 4: INSTALL BRAIN FOG

    Brain Fog comes pre-installed with many MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ packages.

    Once activated, ordinary language may become temporarily unavailable.

    For example:

    Kettle becomes water boiling thing.

    Remote control becomes television changer.

    Refrigerator becomes cold cupboard.

    Socks become foot gloves.

    Spoon becomes food shovel.

    Names are particularly vulnerable.

    People you've known for twenty years may suddenly become:

    Mate.

    Troubleshooting:

    Q: Why did I walk into this room?

    A: Unknown.

    Q: What was I looking for?

    A: Unknown.

    Q: Why am I holding a screwdriver?

    A: Extremely unknown.

    Please return to the previous room.

    The original thought may reload automatically.


    STEP 5: ENERGY MANAGEMENT

    Your body contains a rechargeable battery.

    Unfortunately it appears to have been purchased from a suspicious bloke at a car boot sale.

    You may wake up displaying:

    27%

    Showering: -10%

    Getting dressed: -10%

    Making breakfast: -8%

    Leaving the house: -30%

    Someone saying “You should get out more”: -97%

    Battery critically low.

    Shutting down.

    IMPORTANT:

    Energy cannot necessarily be restored by simply “having a little rest.”

    Sometimes resting makes you tired.

    Sometimes sleeping makes you tired.

    Sometimes doing absolutely nothing makes you tired.

    This is known as MS fatigue.

    It is not laziness.

    It is not ordinary tiredness.

    And it cannot be cured by somebody enthusiastically suggesting yoga.


    STEP 6: INSTALL MOBILITY UPGRADES

    Your original walking equipment may occasionally become unreliable.

    Optional accessories include:

    Walking stick.

    Crutches.

    Rollator.

    Wheelchair.

    Mobility scooter.

    Grab rails.

    Anything else that helps you get through the bloody day.

    These are tools, not defeats.

    If a mobility scooter means you can travel somewhere you couldn't otherwise reach, then the scooter isn't taking away independence.

    It's giving some back.

    Also, scooters come with horns.

    Use this information responsibly.

    Or don't.

    BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKERS.


    STEP 7: MANAGE THE BLADDER EXPANSION PACK

    This optional feature is apparently extremely popular with MS.

    Symptoms may include:

    Needing a wee.

    Needing a wee urgently.

    Needing a wee extremely urgently.

    Needing a wee approximately eleven seconds after you've just had a wee.

    And the legendary:

    I WAS FINE THREE SECONDS AGO.

    Experienced users eventually develop an extraordinary geographical skill.

    They do not enter a building and see:

    Restaurant.

    Shop.

    Pub.

    Cinema.

    They see:

    TOILET.

    Everything else is secondary.


    STEP 8: UPDATE YOUR DAILY PLANNER

    Old daily planner:

    9:00 — Shopping 11:00 — Coffee 1:00 — Lunch 3:00 — Visit friend 6:00 — Dinner

    MS daily planner:

    9:00 — Wake up.

    9:07 — Assess damage.

    9:15 — Reassess ambitions.

    10:30 — Recover from getting dressed.

    12:00 — Consider doing something.

    12:03 — Too ambitious.

    1:00 — Eat.

    2:00 — Forget what today's plan was.

    3:00 — Nap.

    5:00 — Wake up feeling strangely more tired.

    7:00 — Wonder where entire fucking day went.

    10:00 — Suddenly unable to sleep.

    Excellent system.


    STEP 9: PERFORM ROUTINE MAINTENANCE

    There is currently no magical service interval where somebody replaces your nervous system and sends you home good as new.

    Annoying, frankly.

    So maintenance becomes management.

    Rest when you need to.

    Move when you can.

    Use the mobility aid.

    Take the break.

    Cancel the plan.

    Accept help when you want it.

    Tell people no.

    Laugh when something is genuinely ridiculous.

    Swear when something genuinely deserves swearing at.

    You do not receive bonus points for making yourself completely fucking miserable just to prove you can still do something without assistance.


    STEP 10: TROUBLESHOOTING

    Problem: Leg not responding.

    Solution: Turn leg off and back on again.

    Unfortunately no switch has yet been located.


    Problem: Extreme fatigue.

    Solution: Rest.

    If unsuccessful, rest from resting.


    Problem: Forgotten word.

    Solution: Describe object increasingly aggressively until somebody guesses it.


    Problem: Tremor.

    Solution: Tell everybody you're auditioning as a cocktail bartender.


    Problem: Balance failure.

    Solution: Wall.


    Problem: Bladder warning.

    Solution: RUN.

    Correction:

    Move toward toilet at maximum currently available neurological speed.


    Problem: Someone says, “But you look fine.”

    Solution: System recommends sarcasm.


    STEP 11: WARRANTY INFORMATION

    Your MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ package comes with:

    NO WARRANTY.

    There are no refunds.

    No exchanges.

    No replacement nervous systems.

    No loyalty points.

    And apparently no customer satisfaction questionnaire.

    However...

    You may acquire several unexpected accessories along the way.

    A darker sense of humour.

    An impressive tolerance for bullshit.

    An encyclopaedic knowledge of toilets.

    An ability to appreciate good days differently.

    A community of people who understand why “I'm tired” can mean something far beyond needing an early night.

    And the ability to keep going when your body is behaving like something assembled on a Friday afternoon before a bank holiday.


    FINAL ASSEMBLY CHECK

    Are all components working?

    No.

    Have you followed the instructions?

    Mostly.

    Did it help?

    Debatable.

    Are you still here?

    Yes.

    Then congratulations.

    Assembly complete.

    Well...

    Complete-ish.

    Because MS may be part of your life.

    It may alter what you can do.

    It may alter how you do it.

    It may occasionally reduce an ordinary Tuesday to a badly written neurological sitcom.

    But you are not the faulty component.

    The disease is.

    So use the stick.

    Ride the scooter.

    Take the nap.

    Forget the word.

    Find the toilet.

    Laugh when you can.

    And when MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ produces another completely undocumented error...

    Consult the official troubleshooting procedure:

    “Oh, for fuck's sake. What now?”

    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 ☣

    Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms email warlock@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 proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

    25 classic MS moments turned into the world's least desirable bingo game. Dark humour, brutal honesty and no bloody prizes. Forgot why you entered a room? Tripped over absolutely nothing? Nearly wet yourself while the toilet was twelve feet away? Congratulations you've just marked another square on MS Bingo, the only game where winning feels suspiciously like losing.

    MS Bingo: The Game No One Wants to Win

    Welcome to MS Bingo the only game where the prizes include fatigue, bladder urgency, brain fog and accidentally walking into a door frame.

    No purchase necessary.

    No skill required.

    In fact, having skill may actively work against you.

    All you need is Multiple Sclerosis, a functioning sense of black humour and the emotional resilience to shout “BINGO!” while lying on the kitchen floor wondering why your left leg has resigned.

    HOW TO PLAY

    Simple.

    Read the squares.

    Every time one happens, mark it off.

    Five in a row?

    BINGO.

    Complete the entire card?

    Congratulations.

    You win absolutely fuck all.

    Except perhaps an appointment in six months and another leaflet explaining fatigue.


    THE MS BINGO CARD

    1. Forgot Why I Walked Into the Room

    You made the journey.

    You overcame the legs.

    You entered the room.

    Unfortunately, your brain forgot to come with you.

    Stand there looking confused for thirty seconds.

    Return to original room.

    Remember immediately.

    Classic.


    2. Tripped Over a Shadow

    No obstacle.

    No step.

    No loose carpet.

    Possibly not even a shadow.

    Your nervous system simply decided upright was getting repetitive.

    MARK YOUR CARD.


    3. Pretended to Be on My Phone to Hide a Tremor

    Nothing suspicious here.

    Just checking...

    erm...

    the weather.

    For seventeen minutes.

    While gripping the phone with both hands like I'm defusing a bomb.


    4. Called an Everyday Object “The Thingy”

    Could you pass me the...

    The...

    You know.

    The fucking...

    THINGY.

    Everybody knows what I mean.

    Except apparently everybody.


    5. Nearly Wet Myself Because the Toilet Was Twelve Feet Away

    To an ordinary person: twelve feet.

    To an MS bladder:

    THE NORTH FACE OF EVEREST.


    6. Walked Like I Was Drunk While Completely Sober

    Bonus point if somebody gave you the look.

    Double bonus if this happened before breakfast.


    7. Dropped Something Immediately After Picking It Up

    Pick up keys.

    Drop keys.

    Pick up keys.

    Drop keys.

    Consider simply moving house and leaving the keys where they are.


    8. Forgot Someone's Name Mid-Conversation

    You've known this person for fifteen years.

    You've attended their birthday parties.

    You've met their children.

    Today their name is:

    Mate.


    9. Bounced Off a Door frame

    Door width: perfectly adequate.

    Your trajectory: apparently calculated by a drunken satellite.


    10. Lost My Phone While Holding My Phone

    Do not laugh.

    The brain fog was conducting an investigation.

    The primary suspect was the phone.

    Which was in my hand.


    11. FREE SPACE — FATIGUE

    Naturally the centre square is fatigue.

    Because unlike normal bingo, MS gives everyone the free square whether they bloody wanted it or not.


    12. Had to Sit Down After Getting Dressed

    Getting dressed.

    A task previously considered preparation for the day.

    Now apparently the day itself.


    13. Used the Wrong Word and Just Carried On

    "Put the milk in the washing machine."

    You know what I meant.

    I know what I meant.

    The milk knows what I meant.

    Move on.


    14. Leg Suddenly Stopped Cooperating

    Left leg reporting for duty.

    Right leg:

    I'm sorry, this department is now closed.


    15. Had an Unexpected Spasm in Public

    Your body suddenly performs interpretive dance.

    Nobody asked it to.

    Least of all you.


    16. Needed a Rest After Having a Rest

    Normal person:

    "I feel refreshed."

    MS person:

    "That was exhausting."


    17. Forgot What I Was Saying Halfway Through Saying It

    I was making an excellent point about...

    ...

    ...

    Oh, fuck it.

    Next square.


    18. Tried to Pick Something Up and Somehow Kicked It Further Away

    You bend down.

    Miss.

    Kick object.

    Object travels underneath furniture.

    You stare at it.

    It stares back.

    Object wins.


    19. Bladder Gave Approximately Four Seconds' Notice

    Thank you for your generous warning.

    Next time perhaps send the notification before opening the floodgates.


    20. Had to Explain “No, I'm Not Drunk”

    Again.

    No.

    Still neurological.

    Still sober.

    Still walking like I'm returning from a three-day stag weekend.


    21. Forgot Whether I'd Taken My Medication

    Did I take it?

    I remember thinking about taking it.

    Did thinking about taking it become taking it?

    Excellent.

    Now we have Medication Schrödinger's Cat.


    22. Started a Job and Forgot What the Job Was

    Cleaning kitchen.

    Find letter.

    Read letter.

    Remember email.

    Open phone.

    See photo.

    Start looking at photos.

    Twenty minutes later you're sitting down holding a spoon with absolutely no idea how the adventure began.


    23. Laughed Because the Alternative Was Crying

    Possibly the most important square on the card.

    Not because MS is funny.

    Sometimes it absolutely isn't.

    But occasionally the sheer ridiculousness of living inside an unreliable nervous system becomes so absurd that laughter is the only sensible response left.


    24. Said “I'm Fine” While Clearly Being Held Together by Sarcasm

    The universal chronic illness translation:

    "How are you?"

    "Fine."

    Meaning:

    Three systems have failed, one leg is negotiating independence and I haven't properly slept since Tuesday, but neither of us has time for the full answer.


    25. Got BINGO Before Breakfast

    Congratulations.

    You have achieved peak Multiple Sclerosis.

    Your prize is...

    another day with Multiple Sclerosis.

    Hooray.


    THE REAL POINT OF MS BINGO

    Behind the joke, every square represents something that can be genuinely frustrating, humiliating, exhausting or frightening.

    Cognitive problems are real.

    Mobility problems are real.

    Tremor is real.

    Bladder dysfunction is very bloody real.

    Fatigue isn't laziness.

    And when your body stops doing things you've spent your entire life taking for granted, laughing about it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

    Sometimes dark humour is simply refusing to let MS have ownership of every miserable moment.

    If my nervous system insists on turning life into a ridiculous game...

    I reserve the right to take the piss out of the rules.

    BINGO.

    peace healing love and light to all our readers of this blog thank you

    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@livingwithms - warlock@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 help solve this issue so you can understand it lol

    Will He Fly Again?

    Multiple Sclerosis, False Hope and the Fine Art of Pretending Everything Will Be Fine

    He grins, teeth chattering.

    Not a cheerful grin.

    Not the sort found in toothpaste adverts, family photographs or those irritating hospital leaflets where everyone appears delighted to have a chronic neurological disease.

    This is the grin of someone whose body has misplaced the instruction manual.

    It echoes through the hollow silence while weak lights flicker overhead, scrubbing unsuccessfully at the final stain of faith.

    Second chances?

    Of course.

    They are probably waiting in the same cupboard as the cure, the reliable bladder and the eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.

    Nobody can find the key.

    When the Music Stops

    A guitar plays somewhere in the darkness.

    The notes arrive bent, exhausted and slightly dishonest.

    False harmony for a false dawn.

    He sits alone in the stillness, surrounded by the remains of everything that was supposed to happen next.

    Plans.

    Journeys.

    Ordinary mornings.

    The ability to stand up without first negotiating with several uncooperative limbs and a nervous system apparently being operated by a drunk electrician.

    The silence becomes suffocating.

    Every reflection is heavier than the last.

    Every mirror offers a slightly different version of the same unwanted truth.

    Multiple Sclerosis has moved in.

    It has not paid rent.

    It has rearranged the furniture, smashed several windows and now complains that the heating is inadequate.

    The Delusion Department

    She paints his illness in the bright colours of hope.

    Not because she is foolish.

    Because sometimes hope is the only paint left in the tin.

    She tells herself he is strong.

    He will improve.

    He will adapt.

    Something new will be discovered.

    A treatment will work.

    A specialist will finally say the words everyone is waiting to hear:

    “We have fixed it.”

    The specialist does not say this.

    The specialist says things like:

    “Disease progression.”

    “Symptom management.”

    “We’ll monitor the situation.”

    Which is medical language for:

    “We also have no bloody idea what happens next.”

    Still, she clings to the images.

    The wishes.

    The whispered promises.

    He’ll get better.

    Ignore the scans.

    Ignore the lesions.

    Ignore the doctor’s carefully practised expression when the results appear on the screen.

    Ignore the cold weight of the diagnosis.

    Multiple Sclerosis.

    Two words.

    One lifetime rearranged.

    Everyone Suffers, Apparently

    There will always be someone eager to offer perspective.

    “Everyone has problems.”

    “Just take one day at a time.”

    “Try to stay positive.”

    “My neighbour’s cousin had something similar and she cured it by removing dairy.”

    Wonderful.

    The nervous system has been informed.

    It regrets the misunderstanding and promises to remyelinate immediately.

    Pain is universal, they say.

    That may be true.

    But some pain arrives, makes a cup of tea and leaves.

    Other pain changes its address to yours, redirects its post and starts answering the telephone.

    Mourning the past becomes almost impossible because the past refuses to remain politely buried.

    It appears in photographs.

    In old shoes.

    In abandoned hobbies.

    In the memory of walking without calculating every step.

    Her fear begins to sing.

    Not beautifully.

    It sounds like old trees creaking in a winter storm.

    Branches twisting.

    Roots straining.

    A whole forest holding its breath while something unseen decides what to take next.

    Prayers and Other Failed Treatments

    In time, he responds with prayers.

    Some are spoken.

    Some are thought.

    Some are little more than exhausted bargaining directed at a ceiling that offers no comment.

    Prayer is strange when illness becomes permanent.

    You begin politely.

    Then desperately.

    Then angrily.

    Eventually, you stop asking for a miracle and start asking for one tolerable afternoon.

    The dread spreads slowly.

    Like rot inside an apparently healthy tree.

    From the outside, everything still looks solid.

    The leaves remain.

    The bark holds.

    People walk past and say:

    “You look well.”

    Inside, the branches are weakening.

    The muscles tremble beneath invisible storms.

    Each flare exposes another fragile limb.

    Another ache.

    Another part of life that can no longer be trusted.

    Guilt follows close behind.

    The guilt of needing help.

    The guilt of cancelling plans.

    The guilt of being tired.

    The guilt of watching someone you love become tired because you are tired.

    A wonderfully efficient system.

    Multiple Sclerosis attacks the body, then sends guilt along to finish the paperwork.

    Waiting for Healing

    The limbs listen but do not always obey.

    They lie quietly beneath blankets, pretending they may cooperate tomorrow.

    Sometimes they do.

    Sometimes they stage a full industrial dispute without warning.

    There are risks taken for the smallest hope of healing.

    New medication.

    Different medication.

    Higher doses.

    Lower doses.

    More appointments.

    More scans.

    More leaflets featuring suspiciously cheerful people walking through sunlit fields.

    Every treatment carries a possibility.

    Every possibility carries side effects.

    The patient becomes a laboratory with a National Insurance number.

    A little less pain, perhaps.

    A little more dizziness.

    Fewer spasms.

    More fatigue.

    Better movement.

    Worse sleep.

    Medicine gives with one hand and occasionally clubs you over the head with the other.

    Still, you try.

    Because the alternative is doing nothing.

    And doing nothing comes with side effects too.

    The Silence That Burns

    Will the disease reveal her fears?

    It already has.

    Her tears?

    Those too.

    Silence does not fade.

    It burns.

    It consumes the memories of a time when worries were ordinary and therefore almost luxurious.

    Bills.

    Work.

    Traffic.

    The weather.

    The sort of problems one would now happily welcome back with flowers and a small buffet.

    Those earlier worries have become distant dreams.

    They echo beneath broken wings as he falls.

    Not majestically.

    Not symbolically.

    Usually beside the bed while attempting to put on trousers.

    There is rarely anything poetic about losing balance.

    The floor does not care about metaphors.

    For a while, he believes no grace is needed.

    He can manage.

    He can cope.

    He can force the body to obey through willpower, determination and the ancient British medical practice of refusing to make a fuss.

    It works magnificently.

    Until it doesn’t.

    Will He Fly Again?

    Will he fly again?

    Possibly not in the way he once did.

    Will he know victory?

    That depends upon what victory means.

    Walking unaided?

    Living without pain?

    Returning to the person he was before diagnosis?

    Those victories may never arrive.

    That is the truth nobody enjoys printing on an inspirational mug.

    There may be no full recovery.

    No cinematic ending.

    No miraculous final scene where he rises from the chair as the music swells and everyone applauds.

    Real life is usually less considerate.

    Perhaps victory is getting out of bed.

    Perhaps it is laughing at the disease before it can laugh at you.

    Perhaps it is writing down the darkness and making it useful.

    Perhaps it is surviving another day without pretending the day was beautiful.

    One tear blinds her heart as his body vibrates with uncertainty.

    He is not too cowardly to face the truth.

    He is simply exhausted from having to face it every morning.

    There may be no recovery.

    But there is still life.

    Damaged, altered, infuriating life.

    Life with medication boxes, mobility aids, bladder negotiations, forgotten words and bodies that behave like disgruntled civil servants.

    It is not the life they ordered.

    There was no receipt.

    The returns department has closed.

    So they remain.

    Not soaring.

    Not cured.

    Not pretending.

    Still here.

    And some days, against all reasonable expectations, that is victory enough.

    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

    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

    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:

    1. The toilet.
    2. The route to the toilet.
    3. Obstacles between yourself and the toilet.
    4. 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 ☣

    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

    *This article is a fictional and darkly humorous portrayal of living with Multiple Sclerosis. Experiences of MS vary greatly between individuals.

    Multiple Sclerosis has stolen strength, memories, certainty and independence but it has not managed to destroy my humour. In this fictional letter, MS looks at the person whose life it invaded and proudly describes its cruellest work.*

    A Letter from Multiple Sclerosis – Living With an Invisible Disease

    Dear Human,

    We've been together a long time now.

    Long enough that I know your routines better than you do.

    Remember when you first met me?

    You thought I was tiredness.

    Stress.

    A trapped nerve.

    Vitamin deficiency.

    Bless you.

    I let you believe that for a while.

    I enjoy a slow entrance.

    Now look at us.

    You wake up every morning wondering which version of me you'll get.

    Some days I let you walk.

    Some days I borrow your legs.

    Keeps things interesting.

    Do you remember when you trusted your own body?

    I do.

    That was my favourite part.

    Watching that confidence disappear one tiny piece at a time.

    Not enough for anyone else to notice.

    Just enough for you.

    That little stumble.

    That forgotten word.

    The coffee cup you suddenly couldn't grip.

    The name you knew yesterday but couldn't remember today.

    Magnificent.

    The clever part wasn't hurting you.

    Pain is easy.

    Anyone can inflict pain.

    No...

    My masterpiece was making you doubt yourself.

    "Did that really happen?"

    "Am I imagining it?"

    "Perhaps I'm just getting older."

    Exactly.

    That's where I live.

    Not only inside your nerves...

    Inside your certainty.

    I've taught your immune system to attack the very wiring that makes you...

    You.

    A beautifully engineered act of friendly fire.

    Your own body became my accomplice.

    I hardly have to do any work anymore.

    The funny thing is...

    Everyone keeps asking what you've done today.

    As if surviving me isn't already a full-time occupation.

    They see you standing.

    They assume you're fine.

    They don't see the calculations.

    The balance.

    The fatigue.

    The pain.

    The electrical storms firing through your spine.

    The words disappearing halfway through a sentence.

    No...

    That's our little secret.

    I particularly enjoy introducing new symptoms without warning.

    Just when you think you've understood me...

    Surprise.

    Here's dizziness.

    Enjoy your lunch with swallowing problems.

    Fancy some burning feet?

    Let's throw in bladder urgency while you're standing in the supermarket queue.

    Why?

    Because I can.

    I have no rules.

    No timetable.

    No conscience.

    You call me unpredictable.

    I call it creativity.

    But then...

    Something rather annoying happened.

    You laughed.

    Not once.

    Not politely.

    Properly laughed.

    You made jokes about me.

    You named your mobility scooter.

    You turned your misery into stories.

    You started writing.

    People read them.

    Some cried.

    Some smiled.

    Some recognised themselves for the first time.

    That irritated me.

    You see...

    Diseases like me thrive on silence.

    On shame.

    On isolation.

    Every time you tell the truth...

    You steal a little of my power.

    Every time someone says...

    "That's exactly how I feel."

    ...I lose.

    Don't misunderstand me.

    I'm still here.

    I'll still hide your memories.

    I'll still tighten your muscles.

    I'll still steal tomorrow's energy before you've finished today.

    That isn't changing.

    But neither, it seems...

    Are you.

    You're still getting up.

    Still writing.

    Still laughing.

    Still refusing to become only my diagnosis.

    Honestly...

    You're becoming rather inconvenient.

    With the utmost professional irritation,

    Multiple Sclerosis

    P.S.

    I'll probably move your keys tomorrow.

    Just to remind you who's technically in charge.

    Wishing all the readers of this blog a happy week ahead peace love and light to All

    Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
    ☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

    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 ****

    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. 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