I was every parents' dream. A straight A student, Poms captain, varsity softball member, NHS, honor roll, etc., etc. I was also every girl's envy...I was, and still am, 5'8", blue eyes, blond hair, tan, size 6, "beautiful". But just because I look a certain way, does not mean there isn't more behind my eyes. If you look deep enough, you will find a pain and a sorrow that only few can comprehend.

Something went terribly wrong my senior year of high school. I lost all of my zeal, my energy, my sunshine. Getting out of bed was impossible, staying awake a battle, playing sports became impossible. I was in constant pain; it did not matter how much Aleve I took... the pain would not disappear. I knew that something was seriously wrong, and my mom knew it as well. At least someone could see, and would acknowledge that something was seriously wrong with me.

For about a year I went through a parade of doctors. Each one classified me as a hypochondriac and told me that there was nothing wrong with me. I guess I cannot blame them, for everything looked "normal". I did get some kind of diagnosis... migraines. And that is where the doctors stopped. Yet, I knew something was still wrong, and I knew something had to be done soon.

I left for college later that fall; I was on the other side of the state and three hours plus away from home. I thought that everything would be fine, but going to school just aggravated what was already wrong. All my symptoms worsened, and that semester became a nightmare for me. But it did have its ray of sunlight. A doctor at school realized that there was something truly wrong with me. However, she did not have the resources to do the proper tests. My insurance company would not cover them. I was forced to transfer home, but that really did not matter...someone was actually listening.

I came home and my new primary doctor still thought I was messed up in the head. "Tanya, all of your tests are fine. Look at you. You look normal. You're young, blond, tan and beautiful. Why make something up that isn't there?" I cannot believe, to this day, that she would think I would make up this pain. No one would.

So she decided to send me to a rhum. There I was tested for Lupus, and my ANA count came back at a 160. All the additional tests came back as being normal but my specialist knew exactly what was wrong with me. I have FMS. And once he told me that, a wave of relief washed over me. I had an answer to something finally. This whole time I had been right.

It has only been three months since I was diagnosed. And I am just coming out of my flare up. I know that from here on out, it will be quite a battle. And I realize that this is something I will have for the REST of my life. I am only 19 years old. But there is also hope for me. I am young enough to see advancements and maybe a cure for this silent enemy.

I have a lot to learn about myself and about my condition. I have to change my whole life basically. I have to rest and learn to take care of myself. I cannot be everyone's girl. I must be myself.

I hope to eventually get off of the medications I am currently on. I do not want to have to face the possible side effects later on in life. I am on your usual cocktail--Ultram, Flexeril, Celexa, Naproxen, Depakote. I am learning what works, and what does not work for me. In a way, I am learning who I am.

This battle is going to be long and hard. But I know I can fight it. The one thing I do not think I will ever get used to is, "But you look healthy..." Yes, that may be true, but looks can be deceiving...we all know that. I am an 'ideal American beauty', but to me that does not mean a thing. I am someone who has problems; they just do not have a marker or a physical sign to them.

This story is not exactly directed at those who have FMS. For we all have that special bond. It is strange--go to a FM seminar and you will connect with everyone. I think we could have a weeklong discussion with just a handful of people. There is so much that goes with this condition--mind, body and soul. We all know what it is like to act a certain way or look a certain way, and for it not to really reflect who we are.

This story is more directed to those who know someone with FMS. Understand that because they look normal does not mean they are okay inside. Many of us carry a silent pain; many of us do not like to complain about the way we feel. Many of us just bear the weight of it all. Understand that appearances are not everything. If you see me on the street, in a restaurant or in one of your classes, you would not know that I have FMS. There are no bright badges of glory. There is no sign. There is just the agony that only we can understand.

I may be young, blond, tan and beautiful and I may be someone with FMS. However, I will not let the two define who I am. I am a person. Do not ever forget that. Just because I have a condition or look a certain way, does not define who I am. So if you ever meet someone with FMS do not tell them, "But you look normal" or treat them like glass. Because, if it is ever me you run into, I might just slug you!

"There might be a little dust on the bottle, but don't let it fool ya to what's inside"

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