Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Help

I didn't freak out when the groomer injured my service dog.

I didn't cry when I sprained my ankle so badly I still can't walk properly.

Or when I spent the weekend following that vomiting my brains out.

No fits were pitched at the hot butter burn that has left a scar on my dominant wrist.

I smiled and laughed through the cold that kept me from breathing for a week.

The never ending #Fibromyalgia flair has only caused periodic whining.

Even coming home to find it raining in my bed room the Friday before New Years has not been enough to break me.

But after hours of doing and hanging laundry I have been balling like a baby because the tension rod that it was all on fell into Mya's water bowl.

Please, someone else take over?

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