Check in from a Lyme day (No alcohol, some strings attached)

Lyme disease is one of those things you don’t really win against. There’s no dramatic victory scene. No training program. It’s more like a long, unpredictable negotiation with your own body, where the rules change daily and nobody tells you in advance.

Some days I’m functional, focused, and relatively human. Other days my brain feels like it’s buffering, my joints are brawling without me, and my energy level caps out somewhere around “loading screen.”

That’s Lyme.

The Alcohol Factor (One Less Fire to Put Out)

One thing that’s made a noticeable difference? Not drinking.

I didn’t quit alcohol expecting it to cure Lyme — that would’ve been optimistic bordering on delusional. But removing alcohol took away a major variable. Less inflammation. Fewer mood swings. Less recovery time from doing absolutely nothing.

Turns out, when your nervous system is already running a marathon uphill, adding alcohol is like tossing a backpack full of bricks on for fun.

Without it, flare days are still hard — just cleaner. I can tell what’s Lyme, what’s fatigue, and what’s just a bad day, instead of everything blending into one big foggy mess.

Music: Cheap Therapy With Strings Attached

Then there’s music.

I don’t play music because it fixes Lyme. It doesn’t. But it does something equally important: it keeps my head out of the worst places.

On days when my body won’t cooperate, music gives me something steady and familiar to return to. A scale. A simple chord. A pattern I’ve played a thousand times. It’s not about performance or progress — it’s about staying connected to something that isn’t symptoms.

Music also has this underrated benefit: it reminds me I’m still me. Not a diagnosis. Not a flare-up. Just a person sitting with an instrument, doing one small thing that feels good.

Keeping It Real (and Slightly Sarcastic)

I’m not interested in pretending Lyme is a “gift” or that sobriety and music magically solve everything. They don’t. But they do make the hard days more manageable and the good days more usable.

No alcohol means fewer self-inflicted setbacks.Music means fewer mental spirals.Humor means I don’t take the whole thing too seriously.

And that combination — imperfect, practical, and a little stubborn — is how I keep moving forward.

If you’re dealing with chronic illness, recovery, or just a body that didn’t read the instruction manual, you’re not alone. You don’t need grand solutions. Sometimes you just need fewer things working against you — and one thing that keeps you grounded.

For me, that’s music.