https://imgur.com/a/bXi23DY (imgur.com) I actually started this program in July 2019. Then I fell off the bandwagon, continued with a chiropractor, and even found a diet that “worked.” Anyways, I’m back and now I truly believe I have TMS. It’s technically day 1 and I’m reading week 1 of Unlearn Your Pain, along with listening to Curable podcasts. I took a picture of all the products I currently have in my house along with a little essay. If anyone also wants to vent about what TMS has cost them, both monetary and not, feel free to let it out and comment below. Love to you all. This picture shows all the money that I have spent trying pills, creams, electric shocks, tinctures, and protective barriers to reduce my pain. It’s a small representation of how desperate I was to return to my “normal” life. Ice packs and heating pads have touched my skin more than any other human being. I’ve looked through fluorescent light blocking glasses that kept me from seeing the truth. I’ve drugged myself to sleep, hoping that my brain would reset itself. I’ve jammed tennis and golf balls into muscles to get them to release and relax. I carried medicine with me at all times in case an “attack” occurred while I was out. I changed glasses and contact prescriptions. I’ve tried many different pillows and massage tools. I’ve taken daily supplements and vitamins along with pills when the pain presented itself. I got a medical marijuana card, swearing that would cure it all. I’ve electrocuted my forehead into submission, treating my brain like a misbehaved dog who needed shock therapy. I filled my room with countless essential oils. What this picture doesn’t show is the other things that MBS has cost me. Not only the medicines or products that I finished and threw away. There are also social events I missed, social events that I went to and didn’t enjoy because I was in pain, vacations I missed out on by not being present. The days out of work. The days at work where I was in pain. The money I lost from being unemployed for a year and a half. The ways it’s cost my parter. The number of hours driving to and from doctors appointments, pharmacies, and the ER. The number of hours I spent waiting at doctors offices and pharmacies and the ER. The amount of money I spent on these visits, medications, and injections. The amount of hope that came with the promise of a new doctor, procedure, or medicine. The amount of disappointment that came when the pain persisted. The number of hours I spent lying in the dark waiting for the pain to subside. The number of alternative treatments, herbs, and foods that ingested. The number of diets that I tried, like elimination, low tyramine, and Angela Stanton protocol. The different oil diffusers I bought because they were too loud or didn’t pump out enough scent. The number of candles I’ve blown out and air fresheners I’ve unplugged at other people’s houses. The number of peaceful hours that I missed by filling them with anxiety instead. The times I asked my husband to not wear cologne, even though I loved it. The events like bachelorettes and weddings, even my own, where I couldn’t drink and eat freely because I was so scared that it would cause pain. The weight I’ve gained because I couldn’t work out consistently and I would drown my sorrows in food. The number of diagnoses that came from myself and over 25 different doctors. When I look at these products, I realize that each one was a tool to help me handle stress. I have MBS/TMS and I can cure myself. There is nothing wrong with me. I am a healthy 28 year old. I will throw away all these empty promises and invest in myself.