Functioning, Freaking Out, and Fibromyalgia
A Comedy (Sort Of)
From the outside, I look like I’m thriving.
People say, “Wow, you’re so productive!” and I smile like, “Thanks, I only had three mental breakdowns before lunch.”
Welcome to the glamorous world of high-functioning anxiety, where we do all the things while our brains quietly scream in the background.
Now sprinkle in a generous helping of fibromyalgia, and you’ve got yourself a fun little cocktail of chaos: one part panic, one part pain, and a dash of “why do my bones feel like they’re on fire?”
Cheers.
When Your Brain Says “Run” and Your Body Says “Nah”
High-functioning anxiety is that overachieving friend who can’t chill.
Fibromyalgia is the friend who literally can’t move.
Together, they make a killer duo — like a Type A personality trapped in a body that’s permanently buffering.
My anxiety’s yelling, “You need to clean the kitchen, respond messages , reorganise your life, and maybe solve world peace.”
Meanwhile, fibromyalgia’s over here like, “Cool, but we’re not even putting on pants today.”
And somehow, I’m stuck in the middle, trying to negotiate like a tired referee.
The “You Don’t Look Sick” Olympics
If I had a coin for every time someone said, “But you don’t look sick,” I could afford a full-time massage therapist.
People see me functioning and assume I’m fine — not realising that I’m running on caffeine, pain, and pure spite.
I’ve learned to mask it pretty well. Smiling through flare-ups? Professional level. Doing errands while my body’s on fire? Olympic gold. Overthinking every social interaction afterward? Bonus round.
The Myth of “Managing It All”
Let’s be honest — no one’s managing this gracefully.
There are days when I crush it: I get things done, I feel capable, and I even convince myself I’m okay.
Then there are days when my biggest accomplishment is not crying in the shower.
And honestly? Both kinds of days count.
I’ve stopped romanticising productivity. Sometimes “functioning” just means existing without combusting — and that’s plenty.
Things I’ve Learned the Hard Way
Rest is not laziness. (Still working on believing this one, though.)
Pain is real even when it’s invisible.
Saying “no” is self-care, not selfish.
You don’t have to be falling apart quietly. You’re allowed to be loud about your struggle.
Some days, I’m the picture of competence. Other days, I’m a burrito of despair. But through it all, I’m still here — sarcastic, exhausted, and somehow still showing up.
So if you’re out there functioning while spiraling, making jokes between pain flare-ups, and pretending to be a “normal” human — hi, I see you. We’re basically superheroes. Just with less flying and more heating pads.
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