Because Of ME, I Can Only Imagine Being The Mum That Others Get To Be

Lonely

 

By Sophie Cooklynn in HUFFPOST.

 

My entire body feels like it’s on fire and my head feels like it’s ready to explode on a continuous basis and I feel permanently poisoned.

Downstairs, my two-year-old son, Lucas, is playing. He’s a beautiful, clever and sweet little boy who lights up my entire world.

Upstairs, I lie in a single bed, trapped in the shell of a body; bedridden permanently and suffering dozens of symptoms that mean that on most days the most I can do is crawl to the commode just a metre away.

Because of ME, I can only imagine being the mum that others get to be. I can’t hold, touch, speak or hear him as the sensitivity has an unbearable effect on me.

Yet, some people – even doctors – refuse to accept ME exists. They say it’s all in the mind and that I can wish myself better. I’ve lost friends and some of my family also think that it’s just sheer laziness.

I have been suffering ME since I was 10, but I was mild up until I was 19.

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