I was thinking, only fairly recently, that I seem to be escaping Fibro Fog. I had noticed signs of Fibro Fog soon after my diagnosis, but it hadn’t hung around long. Oh, how easy it is to deceive oneself! I was conveniently ignoring the more subtle manifestations of Fibro Fog. Actually, I don’t believe I was deliberately ignoring them: I simply wasn’t recognising them for what they were. As I look back, I reealise the signs were there, all along.
In my defence, I believe some of the problem is connected to the long-standing anxiety and depression that I have. I think there is a considerable overlap between the effects of those and the Fibro Fog: it really isn’t easy to define where one ends and the other begins. Mind you, it probably doesn’t matter, does it? Whatever you call what happens to my brain, the effects are pretty much the same.
Events this week have shown just how muzzy the workings of my brain now are. It has been a shock, both to FPR and to me. Throughout our relationship, it has tended to be me who has dealt with the admin-type stuff in the household, and it has worked well – until now… However, this week, we have both seen some of the strange mistakes I have made. Some of the mistakes are amusing, but some could (and almost did) have serious consequences. It is quite a concern. Not only that, but it is annihilating my self-esteem. I had already accepted that my ability to cope has shrivelled away, but now I have to face the fact that what is in my head is not necessarily the same as what I see, hear or say.
I feel like an idiot. It is difficult for me to trust or believe in myself so heaven only knows how FPR is going to cope with it.
Believe me, it ain’t nice.