Being in love with someone with fibromyalgia doesn’t mean that you can save them. This disease isn’t a cancer with one of two endings. It is a life path that is beyond the control of anyone, and there is no cure. Fibromyalgia, for an outsider, is like watching someone suffer through torture rendered by a tormentor within themselves. I’ve seen her contort in pain, cry relentlessly, and feel no hope. My job, and love is a job no matter what, is to love her through it all, comfort her and give her a future to look forward to.
The job of love is one that many people can’t do, or will settle for tolerance, but for her I feel nothing but unyielding, unremitting love that I enjoy every second of it. Our future will hold more pain and trials than almost any couple will ever face. I have had nights where I wished she wasn’t sick, that she wasn’t in pain, but I refuse to lose her or give up on her for any reason. I want to escape sometimes, from her pain and her suffering, but with her.
Sometimes it feels like I’m too weak to really care for her. Like a child, I want to run and hide away from her anguish, to be able to have freedom with her, and go out and do things like we used to do. I wish our lives would be perfect, where I wouldn’t have to worry about money and she wouldn’t have to feel pain. But in all of my wishing, and all of my fantasies about a perfect life, she is with me. And that is love; to want all that is best for her, while hoping she’ll keep me around.