It all started like any other day. I had just returned from a weekend camping trip with some friends, and I was feeling a bit tired. Little did I know that it I would soon be in for a world of pain.
After a few days, I started to experience some symptoms that I just couldn’t shake. Aches and pains all over my body, joint stiffness that made it hard to move around, and fatigue so strong it made everyday tasks seem impossible. I knew something was wrong.
The doctors ran tests, but they couldn’t find anything wrong. Weeks passed, and I still felt awful. I was sure something was wrong, but I couldn’t convince my doctor. Then finally, after months of searching, they diagnosed me. I had Lyme disease.
At first, I was relieved. At least now I had a name for the pain I was feeling. But then I started to learn more about the disease and my relief turned to fear. Lyme could be a long, drawn-out battle with no guarantee of a cure. I felt like I had been cursed.
My family and friends tried to bolster me, to help me focus on the positive. But I couldn’t ignore the truth. I had a difficult road ahead of me, and I had to face it alone. Daily medications and treatments, the worry about the future, and the constant ache and exhaustion.
It seemed like the battle lasted forever. But eventually I had to admit defeat. The Lyme was too much and I couldn’t go on. I had done my best, but in the end, Lyme’s Curse had won. I was defeated, and all that was left was despair.