Lyme is a sneaky bastard. It comes on when you think you are strong and invincible and it completely shatters you.

It takes ahold of your perfect little life and breaks it into a million pieces on the ground. Then when you are on your hands and knees picking up the pieces, trying to put yourself back together, it knocks you down again and shatters what is left of you into a million more pieces.

Living with lyme is not a life. It is merely just existing. Just when you think you are turning the corner or starting to put some pieces back together it shatters you again and again until there is barely anything left. It turns you to sand, that can wash away at any moment.

Living with Lyme is like being in a prison within your own body. You know you used to be a vibrant person, but now you are a broken shell of a million little pieces. A distant memory of what you used to be. Someone you don’t even recognize anymore.

You go from participating in life to just existing and watching life pass you by. You impatiently wait for each day to pass, in hopes of the next day being slightly brighter, though it rarely is.

You think to yourself, that if you did not wake up the next day, you would be ok with it. That you would be ok with an end to this misery, but somehow you keep waking up, you keep trying and you keep waiting and hoping for a better day. A day when you wake up from the shattered nightmare that is lyme.