The Diagnoses, a Craigslist ad, and The End.

The doctor called yesterday.

It seems kind of ironic that after a day filled with people complimenting me on my writing, my sense of humor, my (lack) of design skills and my idiotic car-selling choices, I should end the day with something depressing.

I suppose there’s no good way to go about this, so I’ll just go ahead.

Fibromyaligia is confirmed, and I get a bonus prize of degenerative cartilage in about 80% of my important joints. —Good news though! My 2nd and 3rd toe on BOTH FEET are not affected. Small victories, right?

Goddamn do I hate the word “degenerative”. It sucks because since the fibro makes me more sensitive to pain then most people, in the words of my doctor “you get a double sucker punch because you’re going to feel the degeneration much more strongly”. Fucking right, I’M SO SENSITIVE.

Did you just tilt your head? Stop tilting your head to the side. Everyone keeps doing that.


(It’s better when I say it in this voice)

But the thing is, today I still lived my life, and so, as promised, this is the end of talking about it on my blog**

Someone asked me why I was choosing to not write about it, and I don’t think I did a good enough job of explaining it before.

Let me tell you a story. (A vague story, to protect the identities of the innocent but inspiring party involved).

I have a friend who has a blog. It’s really well written, and on it, she is incredibly honest and open about her life, her experiences, her struggles and many other things, and I always look forward to updates because I get to hear, from her perspective, how her journey through some of her struggles and medical issues are coming.

I’m also jealous of her, a little bit, because she gets a journey. I don’t. Which, I mean, is okay– that’s just kind of how the chips fall, I’m not going to sit and cry about it. Probably.

What I enjoy so much about this particular blog is that it isn’t depressing. It’s not a “woe is me my life is so hard!” it’s a “here’s an honest look at what I’m going through, but I have confidence in myself and the people around me and I know I will get better and become more adept and handling and dealing with the things I am going through. Won’t you join me?”

I love that. I love that she is so positive and open and honest about the things she goes through, and I love that she is willing to share her journey with the people who follow her (amazing) writing. Every time I read her blog, she is getting a little bit stronger, a little bit better, moving a little bit in the right direction. It’s awesome.

Obviously playing “compare the medical problems” isn’t productive because everyone is different and deals with things in different ways, but my point is that I, in all of my goof-bally ridiculousness, can’t in good conscience blog about something that is never going to change. Or write something that is just going to be depressing to read because my knees are falling apart or something. I know myself, and I know that, if left unchecked, this blog would very, very quickly devolve into a parade of “woe is me” posts. Like, so hard.


I want to rant and rave and scream about how unfair this is. I want to cry and hide under the blankets and not come out until I stop hurting, but I realized a long time ago that that probably wasn’t going to happen. Which I don’t know if I’m okay with yet. I want to be able to focus on things long enough for them to stay in my brain (yeah, off-book rehearsal is going to be interesting) and I want to be able to do normal 24 year old things like getting wasted and dancing the night away without feeling like shit for a week afterwards. I want to do so many things, and knowing that it’s just going to keep getting worse and more difficult sucks balls. Really. It does. It sucks balls. I want to wake up not terrified of what is going to hurt today and I want to be able to walk around in hot weather without feeling like I’m going to die and I want to be able to listen to loud music without feeling like I’m being stabbed and I want a lot of things that I’m never going to actually have.


But, there it is. “What I’m never actually going to have” doesn’t matter. I am who I am, I get what I get, and that is the end of it. I know I said basically the same thing last time, but I want to end on this because I feel like it is important.

I am so lucky. The things that I may never have are so small and so trivial compared to the awesomeness that is my life every day that I can’t even begin to compare. I wake up with blue hair and get paid to talk to crazy people on the phone. I just figured out how to make amazing tomato bisque. I have an unbelievably amazing group of friends and my mom and I are actually starting to get along. I am madly in love with a man who,when I told him that I’m never getting better and that I wouldn’t judge him if he bailed because he deserves someone who can keep up with him,  told me in response “well, we know what it’s called, now what do we do to fight it?”. “we”. I have a killer awesome apartment and I just found, seriously you guys, the most amazing pair of sweatpants I have ever owned.

Like, they are so comfy.

Sweatpants, tomato soup, and the most incredible people I know.

That’s really all I need to make me happy.

I don’t need to dwell on this. I know that there will be bad days, I know that there will be shitty days. I’m sure there will be days where I want to stab myself with something sharp until dead, but I’ve done my crying and I’ve done my lamenting at the heavens. It’s not going to change anything, and writing about how “woe is me, my neck hurts today” isn’t going to change your life, dear reader, either.

What will change your life is my chocolate chip cookie recipe, because holy shit.

I am more than some mis-firing nerves and some degenerating cartilage. I’m Catie Fucking Osborn.

Deal. With. That.

**This excludes any funny stories I may get out of it, because everyone deserves a funny story.


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