I can't sleep

I can't sleep because I don't know if I'll be able to work tomorrow. My team needs me, my clients need me, and I need the health and financial benefits of work. If I have a flare and I can't stand, then I can't work tomorrow, and if I can't work tomorrow then I can't get paid. I've run out of paid leave. Maybe this time it will be too much, and I'll finally become one of the one in six who lose their job.

I can't sleep because my joints are aching. Not from the exercise I'm told will help manage my symptoms, but from the complex pain that comes around my period. My spine feels like it might collapse on the next movement. My breath is taken by just trying to stand. I can't get to the door to wait for the ambulance. I'm paralysed by pain and fear. Maybe this time they won't be able to stop my pain.

I can't sleep because when I do, I have nightmares about losing my future babies. My body won't work, despite my desperate pleas for it to please give me and my fiancé the family we long for. What if this is too much for him? What if this is too much for me? What if we never meet them? Maybe this time I will finally be pregnant, but we will miss it because we fell asleep.

I can't sleep and my friends don't know what I mean. They don't care when I undo my pants and walk around with my swollen belly out. They make herbal tea and tell me they're here. They try to read what I post online. But my friends don't get it, and I don't feel understood. Maybe this time they won't come when I can't get to them, and maybe that's the beginning of the end.

I can't sleep because the gremlins of my mind tell me I'm worthless and broken and undeserving of support. This disease is not just on my organs, it's in the voices of doubt and criticism and fear in my mind.