MS flare up

🎗️ 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

When Your Nervous System Decides to Have a Full-On Meltdown

Well, it appears my body has decided that having progressive MS wasn't quite entertaining enough.

So, naturally, it has thrown a chest infection into the mix.

Because apparently my nervous system needed a little extra encouragement to completely lose the plot.

I've been having what my doctor has described as paroxysmal symptoms. For those who don't speak fluent medical terminology, paroxysmal basically means symptoms that can suddenly appear in episodes or bursts.

And bloody hell, do they know how to make an entrance.

One minute I'm doing whatever it is I'm trying to do, and the next my nervous system seems to announce:

"RIGHT, EVERYBODY! EMERGENCY MEETING! WE'RE GOING TO FUCK EVERYTHING UP!"

And off we go.

Spasms. Strange sensations. Weird feelings in my head. Sudden neurological problems. Sweating. General bodily confusion.

Sometimes it feels as though my nervous system has been handed the controls by a drunk electrician.

Then along comes the chest infection

As if progressive MS wasn't enough to deal with, I've now got a chest infection as well.

I've already been seen by my doctor, so I'm not sitting here pretending I know more than the medical professionals. But one thing I've learned over the years is that when you're living with MS, an infection can make everything feel considerably worse.

Your body is already fighting something, and then your nervous system decides it would quite like to join the party.

Except it doesn't bring beer.

It brings neurological chaos.

Symptoms that are normally manageable can suddenly become much more noticeable. Things can feel amplified. The fatigue can be ridiculous. Your body feels like it's working against itself.

And when you've already got paroxysmal symptoms occurring, adding an infection into the equation can feel like somebody has poured petrol onto a bonfire.

The great neurological meltdown

So here I am.

Progressive MS.

Chest infection.

Paroxysmal symptoms.

Heart-related symptoms that have already been checked by my doctor.

Sweating.

A weird bloody head.

And various other bits of my nervous system apparently auditioning for their own independent television series.

At this point, I've stopped asking:

"What's next?"

Because clearly my body takes that as a challenge.

The strange thing about MS is that it's not always something dramatic that you can see from the outside.

Someone can look at you and think:

"He looks alright."

Meanwhile, inside your nervous system, World War III is taking place.

That's one of the things I wish more people understood about neurological illness.

You can't necessarily see the battle.

You just experience it.

So what now?

For the moment, I'm following my doctor's advice and trying to let my body deal with the infection.

I'm also trying not to panic every time my nervous system decides to throw another curveball.

That's easier said than done.

When you've lived with MS for long enough, you become very aware of every strange sensation your body produces.

Is it MS?

Is it the infection?

Is it a paroxysmal episode?

Is it fatigue?

Is my nervous system having another spectacular hissy fit?

Or is my body simply reminding me that I am not actually in charge here?

Sometimes there doesn't seem to be a bloody instruction manual.

Living with the unpredictable

That's probably one of the hardest things about progressive MS.

It's not just the symptoms themselves.

It's the unpredictability.

You can wake up and have no idea what sort of day your body has planned for you.

And sometimes the answer appears to be:

"Today we're going to try absolutely everything."

So yes, I'm currently experiencing what I can only describe as a massive neurological meltdown.

But I'm still here.

Still writing.

Still taking the piss out of the situation wherever possible.

Because if MS is going to keep throwing shit at me, I might as well throw some dark humour back.

Welcome to My Living Hell.

Where apparently even my nervous system has developed a sense of humour.

And unfortunately, it's bloody terrible.

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 🎗️

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

It’s one of those delightful mornings where you wake up and think,

“Oh good, I’m dying again.”

Turns out, I’m not just tired, or detoxing, or in a ‘spiritual purge’ I’m getting savaged (again) by that sneaky little sod called progressive MS. Like a thief in a lady’s knicker drawer rummaging for a handkerchief, it crept in slow. Silent. Stealthy. Uninvited. And now it’s everywhere.

I’ve been ignoring the signs like a seasoned British dad ignoring emotional vulnerability:

Fatigue? Must be the weather.

Brain fog? Probably the moon.

Pooing razor blades dipped in battery acid? Definitely just something I ate, right?

Wrong.

It’s the full house: MS, in all its steaming neurological glory. And I missed it. Again. Because that’s the thing with progressive MS — it doesn’t slam into you like a car crash. It oozes. It simmers. It transcends. And by the time you notice, it’s too late — you’re stuck in a surrealist nightmare where your bowels have turned into industrial machinery and your nerves scream like banshees through a PA system made of thorns.

Oh, and the tinnitus? Full blast. Not even Ozzy can drown out this skull symphony. No amount of dark humour can scrub it clean — but hell, I’m gonna try anyway.

Common Symptoms I Forgot I Was Having:

Fatigue: Deep, soul-sapping exhaustion. Sleeping is a job now.

Muscle Weakness: Arms and legs now qualify as Victorian props.

Spasticity: Like living with invisible tightrope wires inside your limbs.

Coordination: If I could walk, I’d be swerving like a hungover goat on stilts — but I’m not, so I just sit here doing wheelies of doom into furniture and pretending it’s parkour.

Sensory Chaos:

Numbness/Tingling: Pins and needles, but make it existential.

Pain: Chronic. Burning. Random. Delightful!

Vision: Either blurred, double, or through a kaleidoscope made of tears.

Mental Torture:

Memory: What's that again?

Mood: Varying from “existential dread” to “burn the world.”

Toilet Hellscape:

Bladder: It’s either Niagara Falls or the Sahara.

Bowels: Sherman tank, razor blades, and Satan’s discharge. Cheers.

I know I’m not alone. I know someone else out there is reading this in the same state of muttering despair. So here’s your reminder: you’re not losing it — you’re just in hell with me. Welcome. I made tea (then forgot where I put it).

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