Chasing a Ball That Isn’t There

Living with Lyme is like playing fetch with no ball.

You keep running, chasing, hoping something will finally come back — an answer, a fix, relief.

But nothing ever does.

And you just stand there, waiting, like an idiot dog wondering if it was your fault.

And the thing is, it’s not always the big, dramatic stuff that breaks you.

It’s the little, everyday crap.

Trying to host a small barbecue — nothing fancy — just my family, a few steaks, some iced tea.

You’d think that would be easy.

But I had to write everything down by hand because I don’t trust my brain anymore.

The guy at checkout made fun of my “old school” list.

If only he knew that without it, I’d forget half the cart.

The night turned out beautiful — laughter, good food, a tiny piece of normal.

But no one sees how hard that was for me.

Cutting steak. Opening tea bags. Carrying groceries.

Things that sound like nothing until your neck, arms, hands, and legs start shaking from effort.

They see the night. They don’t see what it took to get there.

And honestly, I don’t blame them.

They can’t see it.

But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

Thirteen months into this flare and some days I still catch myself wondering how the hell I’m

supposed to do this again.

How do you keep finding hope when the hope keeps letting you down?

It’s like—how many times can you throw yourself at healing before it throws you back?

And then I think about where I was.

Wheelchair. Bedbound. Gone.

And somehow, I’m still here.

Still showing up for my life — even if half the time, I’m just crawling through it.

This version of me doesn’t sugarcoat it.

It’s not “everything happens for a reason.”

It’s “this f*cking sucks, but I’m still here.”

And honestly, that’s enough for today.

Because this whole thing — the chasing, the waiting, the wondering — it’s not endless.

It just feels like it when you’re in it.

You don’t give up after one bad test, one bad week, one doctor who tells you it’s stress. You keep going.

Even if “going” today means writing something down on a grocery list so you don’t forget.

One day, the chase slows down.

You stop running.

And maybe you finally catch your breath.

That’s what I’m holding on to.

💚 This is just my story. Not advice. Just the truth.