Echoes by Dana

Unchained. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Unapologetically me.

Category: Life

  • Rollercoaster in Pyjamas: My Lyme Life

    It’s been two weeks where pain and exhaustion decided to move in with me like unwanted roommates. Saturday has arrived, the day when most families are cooking, shopping, cleaning, or doing a million “normal” things. Me? I went shopping too… except I did it limping through the aisles like a half-awake zombie auditioning for a horror film. But hey, groceries made it home, that counts as a victory.

    Once everything was shoved into its rightful place (or at least somewhere close enough), I swapped my “outside” clothes for a loyal pair of pyjamas, curled up on the couch, and let frustration and pain leak out in the form of tears. Now I’m just sitting here, waiting for the magical spark of energy to arrive so I can manage lunch and my pile of pills.

    These “pain days” feel like a terrifying rollercoaster ride, one of those ones that shoot you into the sky and then drop you down so hard your heart forgets its job. It’s especially cruel after getting a brief taste of three whole weeks of feeling almost normal, walking for miles, climbing hills, daring to believe my body was on my side again.

    And then the thought creeps in: Will this ever really end? Is this my life now? Chronic illness is heavy, exhausting, and isolating. It tricks you into hopelessness. But just like every rollercoaster, what goes down must eventually go up again. So, I wait.

    For now, I’ll stay wrapped in my warm blanket fortress, with my sausage dog—the best little therapy buddy anyone could ask for, snuggled on my lap. If nothing else, at least I’m not riding this rollercoaster alone.

  • When the Light Hits Just Right

    It’s late afternoon, that magical time when the sun starts flirting with the idea of setting, and I’m counting down the final hour of the workday like a kid waiting for recess. I’m at my desk, bathed in golden light, practically glowing like I’ve been blessed by some productivity goddess. The sunlight dances across my keyboard, pirouettes on my monitor, and gently warms my hand like a soft whisper saying, “You’ve almost made it.”
    A slight turn of my head to the right, and there it is,  my garden, stretching out beyond the window like a peaceful postcard. The old apple tree stands proud, showing off its three shades of leaves like it’s trying on outfits for autumn. It’s the end of August, and summer is slowly packing its bags. Soon, the rain will return, and the sun will get lazy, no longer showing up to warm my soul after a long day.
    This week? Meh. Flat. Less sparkly than the last. A gentle nudge from Lyme, reminding me it’s still hanging around like an unwanted guest who doesn’t know when to leave. Some days, I just want to crawl into a cave, shut the world out, and cry until everything feels okay again.
    But then, these warm summer days. They whisper, “Not yet.” They tempt me to walk the dog, to stretch my legs for 8 kilometers just to earn a scoop of ice cream that tastes like victory. They remind me that life isn’t supposed to feel like this forever. That healing is slow, but it’s coming. That I’m stronger than I feel.
    And I believe it. I have to. Because deep down, I know: I can beat this.