What it costs to keep showing up

There’s a version of me I miss.

Not the one people see online.

Not the one smiling through the moment.

The one on the court.

Basketball wasn’t just a game for me.

It was rhythm.

It was release.

It was thinking in real time: fast, sharp, alive.

Every play was a decision.

Every mistake had a chance for redemption on the next one.

That space… the air, the sweat, the sound of the net snapping…

I miss it.

Fibromyalgia didn’t just bring pain.

It took something from me.

The ability to move freely.

To bend, to reach, to just exist in my body without calculating the cost.

Now, even simple things, washing dishes, leaning down, cleaning…

come with a price.

And I feel it.

Every time.

A bad day doesn’t start with pain.

It starts with sleep…or the lack of it.

Either I didn’t sleep at all…

or I wake up feeling like I didn’t.

Fibro interrupts rest.

Insomnia adds another layer.

So before the day even begins…

I’m already behind.

Then comes the decisions.

Do I push through?

Do I rest?

Do I cancel?

I hate rescheduling.

Even after years, it still feels like I’m failing when I do.

So I try to manage.

Supplements.

Creams.

Cannabis balm.

Whatever might take the edge off.

Sometimes it’s just one symptom.

Like my eyes: strained, burning, light-sensitive.

Other times it’s everything at once.

Neck pain.

Shoulders tight.

Body aching.

And then the fog…

Words slipping.

Thoughts unclear.

Memory lagging behind.

That’s when I know—

I need to shut it down.

But even then, I negotiate with myself.

“Let me rest until 11.”

“Let me check again at noon.”

And when I check in…

nothing’s changed.

Or it’s worse.

By early afternoon, I already know:

This day is gone.

And the hardest part?

It’s not always the physical pain.

It’s the feeling.

The frustration.

The isolation.

The weight of being stuck.

And still…

I don’t quit.

What keeps me going?

Purpose.

And honestly?

A little bit of spite.

I’ve been dealing with this for years.

But these last two?

A different kind of hell.

Not just fibro, but everything layered on top of it.

Nervous system overload.

Mental exhaustion.

Emotional weight.

Financial pressure.

And somehow…

I still believe.

I treat it like the game.

Next play.

You missed? Shoot again.

You don’t stop shooting.

I believe this isn’t where I stay.

I believe something shifts.

Even if it’s temporary…

I’ve seen it before.

Moments where the pain disappeared.

30 days of relief.

No explanation.

Just…grace.

So I hold onto that.

I hold onto God.

Even when I question Him.

Even when I don’t understand.

I think about my wife.

How hard it is for her to watch me fight like this.

I think about my son, Jace.

Even alienated…he’s part of what keeps me going.

Because I believe one day… we’ll be together again.

And I need to be ready for that.

And then there’s this:

The people who don’t even know me…but might need to see this.

Other warriors.

Other fighters.

People trying to live their life while battling something invisible.

Because the truth is…

You can feel completely alone in this.

Even when you know you’re not.

So I share.

Not because it’s easy.

But because it matters.

Fibromyalgia didn’t just bring pain; it took pieces of me. But I’m still here, still shooting, still believing the next shot goes in.