It’s not casual. It’s not polite. It’s emotional. I love it like a fool who knows better. My favorite is iced coffee with oat milk, a little honey, and just a tiny bit of creamer. That’s it. Cold, sweet, and smooth. Every sip makes me happy, even while my body plots against me.
Living with multiple sclerosis means almost every choice comes with conditions. Coffee is one of them. It helps me focus, gives me energy, and makes mornings less miserable. But the trade-off? It sends my bladder into panic mode. Some days, it feels like I’m going to piss on myself. And sometimes, I do. That’s the truth no one puts on inspirational posters.
Still, I drink it.
Every morning. Without fail.
Oh GOD please NO! I’m almost there.
It’s part of my routine, my mental ignition switch. Once I take that first sip, the fog that MS brings starts to lift. I put on my headphones, hit play on my endless playlist of over 250 hours of music, and I can finally think. My brain starts connecting again. I feel sharper, more capable, more me.
That’s the magic part of caffeine. Studies show it can boost alertness, concentration, and short-term memory. It gives your central nervous system a small jolt, helping you stay awake and focused. For many people with MS, that little spark can make a big difference when fatigue feels like a full-time job.
But there’s the other side. The one nobody romanticizes.
Caffeine is a diuretic. It makes you pee more. For people with MS, that can be a problem, especially if you already deal with bladder urgency or incontinence. It can also upset your stomach or make anxiety worse if you have a lot of it. And if you drink it too late in the day, it can wreck your sleep.
It’s a beautiful morning!!
So why do I still do it? Because it helps me start the day. Because it’s one of the few pleasures that still feels like mine. Because the smell of coffee in the morning makes me feel human before the rest of the world starts demanding things.
I know what the experts say. Keep it under 400 milligrams a day. Avoid it if it triggers symptoms. Listen to your body. And I do. But my relationship with caffeine isn’t about perfection. It’s about balance. Some days I win. Some days I lose. But most days, I get through the morning feeling awake and present, and that’s worth it.
Oh look a Dunkin Donuts on the corner!
Yes, my bladder might betray me. And yes, I can practically hear myself getting fat from the oat milk and honey. But that first sip is peace. It’s clarity. It’s control in a body that doesn’t always cooperate.
So no, caffeine and MS don’t make the healthiest couple. But like every messy relationship worth having, we make it work.
Me not being able to sleep at night.
Author’s Note:
Living with MS means choosing your battles. Some days, it’s walking. Some days, it’s bladder control. And some days, it’s deciding whether coffee is worth the risk. For me, it usually is. Because life with MS isn’t about perfection. It’s about finding small joys in the middle of the mess. This story is one of mine.
Always on the go, never knowing what tomorrow will be like.
I love you, and I hope you love me too. I’m back at it again with another blog post for March, but this time, I’m trying something different. A little weird? Maybe. But stay with me. I want to have a conversation with MS… as if it were a person.
Yeah, I know it’s a stretch. Even as I write this, I’m still not fully sure how this will unfold. But I thought it would be an interesting concept. What if we gave Multiple Sclerosis a mic and let it talk back? What does it want? Why is it here? Who even invited this guy?
This conversation is just my take. For other warriors out there, your journey with MS may look completely different. If this blog doesn’t speak to your personal experience, my apologies. But I hope it brings you a little insight… and maybe a few laughs too. I want to dissect what kind of creature we’re dealing with here.
Because let’s be real: MS isn’t just a disease, it’s a shape-shifting intruder. It’s selfish, draining, unpredictable. It takes advantage of us when we’re at our weakest and dares us to fight back. And fight we do.
I shared this idea with my therapist, and she loved it. She even gave me some suggestions. Her excitement gave me the creative push I needed. I wasn’t sure how to structure it—so what you’re about to read is the best way I knew how to bring this idea to life.
So without further delay… let me introduce you to the guest who really needs no introduction. This thing has traveled the globe, no passport, no visa. It’s untouchable, yet has touched the lives of millions. Some say it’s one of the most hated entities on the planet. I’ve heard it really knows how to get on people’s nerves. I like to think it’s just misunderstood.
Here to set the record straight… MS.
So we begin….
It’s a New Day, and I’m feeling Good.
MS: Well, that was one hell of an introduction. Got me misty-eyed. Beautiful stuff.
Yes, I’ve made my presence known for a few decades now. It feels good to share what I have to offer. Honestly, I’ve never met a body that could completely ignore me. Some people never recognize the value in my work, but I show up anyway. Day and night, I bring change. Uncertainty. Chaos. And sometimes, oddly enough, hope. I mean, my second cousin Cancer gets all the attention, but we’re both out here doing impactful work.
Diseases like me, we bridge the gap between faith and the unknown. We force people to examine everything. Family, purpose, mortality. You’re welcome.
Anyway, I digress. I get passionate sometimes. How are you, man? It’s been, what, two years since we really sat down like this?
You: For the sake of this interview, I’ll respond, I’m just fine to you. The family’s good. We’re all just trying to stay grounded in this unpredictable world. I pray love and peace find everyone eventually. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I know you’ve got a busy schedule ruining lives and all. So Let us get straight to it. Thank you making it in today.
MS: You know how it is….slow motion, but still spreading the love. Did you catch the Knicks game? They’re finally starting to look like a team.
You: Let’s stay focused. I don’t want to waste too much time.
MS: Alright, alright. Straight to business. I respect that. But seriously, thanks for having me. When I got the invite, I was hyped. People say some mean stuff about me, and I’m here to set the record straight.
You: Let’s get into it. Who exactly are you?
MS: Good question. I go by Multiple Sclerosis, but you can call me MS. I’m like a glitch in the matrix of your nervous system. A surprise guest who never RSVPs, but overstays my welcome. I slow down your signals, confuse your brain, throw off your coordination, basically I make life spicy.
And no two people experience me the same. I like to keep things fresh. Predictability is boring.
You: Why do you keep messing with me?
MS: Messing? Nah, I prefer “remixing.” Some days I trip you up, other days I drain your energy like a phone on 2% running ten apps at once. I don’t mean to ruin your vibe. I just…exist. And unfortunately, your body is my playground.
You: Why can’t you just leave me alone?
MS: If only it worked that way. I’m a permanent tenant, bro. Treatments, diets, rest—those things slow me down, but I’m not packing my bags. Think of me like bad Wi-Fi: sometimes strong, sometimes weak, always lingering.
You: What do you want from me?
MS: I don’t want anything, I just am. But if I had to say something? A little acknowledgment. Maybe even a grudging respect. I like it when you fight me. It keeps things interesting. And listen, I’ve seen you get tripped up by me more times than I can count. That fall in the living room? Comedy gold. Your wife caught my good side in that photo.
You’re strong, man. You stay on that universe-and-God stuff. It’s cute. I kinda hope it helps you. No lie.
I’ve fallen and I don’t wanna get up.
You: Is there anything I can do to shut you up?
MS: Oof, tough crowd. Alright, I shouldn’t tell you this, but… yeah. You can weaken my grip. Stay active (even when I make you feel like a 200-lb sandbag), eat right, manage stress, and listen to your body. Oh, and humor? Kills me. Every time you laugh, I lose some power. Your jokes mess with my algorithm.
You got this weird way of handling me—like turning my chaos into poetry. I don’t like it, but I respect it.
You: So, you’re saying I can’t get rid of you, but I can learn to live with you?
MS: Bingo. We’re stuck together, hombre. Like it or not, we’re lifelong roommates. But here’s the twist, you don’t have to let me run the place. You can still chase your dreams, love your people, live your life. I’ll keep throwing curveballs, sure, but man, I’ve seen you hit some home runs. And let me just say when you meditate like I’m not even in the room? That’s wild. I mean, I’m right there messing with your nerves, and you’re floating in peace like I don’t exist. And vacations? Woo! You should see your nervous system when you get Uhthoff’s phenomenon. You start overheating, heart racing, and thinking it’s a relapse—nope, just me reminding you that I’m still around. You really gotta learn to relax, bro.
You: Alright, MS. I hear you. But just so you know I’m not going down without a fight.
MS: Oh, I never doubted that. You’ve always been one of the stubborn ones. Gotta say I respect that.
You: Why do you show up differently in different people?
MS: Because I’m complicated, obviously. I’m the remix artist of neurological diseases. Some folks get tingling and numbness, others feel like they’re walking in wet cement. I bring heat for some, freezing cold for others. Brain fog? That’s my abstract art piece. But my favorite trick? Emotional disruption. anxiety, depression, mood swings—you name it. Mental health is where I do some of my best work. You know that one well, Jon. I’ve seen you pace rooms and avoid eye contact with your own feelings. Yeah, I know what’s up.
How you doing?..I’m just here
You: Why do you make me so tired even when I’ve done nothing?
MS: Ah, fatigue my signature move. The Hulk Hogan leg drop of neurology. See, your nerves are like wires, and I mess with their insulation—the myelin. So now your brain has to scream every signal twice as loud just to make your body move. That takes energy. Lots of it. That “nothing” you did? Yeah, it cost your nervous system everything. You call it exhaustion, I call it my masterpiece. Oh, and those naps your wife tells you to take? You should listen. She’s smarter than both of us.
You: Why does my body feel like it doesn’t belong to me sometimes?
MS: Ooh, I love that one. Thats a good question. Sometimes I make your hand drop things out of nowhere. Other times, I crank up your internal thermostat until you feel like you’re melting on a mild spring day. Or I make your legs wobble like a newborn deer. I scramble your signals, touch, temperature, motion, so nothing feels quite right. It’s like trying to dance to music that’s out of sync. Hilarious for me. Less so for you.
You: Do you ever take a break?
MS: Sure I call it remission. That’s me stepping back to let you breathe a little… just enough to get your hope up. Then BAM, I remind you I’m still in charge. It’s the long con, baby. Nothing personal. Just… strategy.
You: Why do doctors still not fully understand you?
MS: Because I’m slippery. I don’t play by the same rules twice. I show up differently in every MRI, every spinal tap, every blood test. I’m like a neurological Houdini. Even top neurologists are like, “What’s this guy’s deal?” I confuse machines and humans. But hey maybe one day, AI or some medical genius will finally figure me out. Until then, I stay unpredictable.
You: What’s one thing you didn’t expect from me?
MS: Honestly? How much fight you’ve got. I’ve hit you with fatigue, balance issues, speech glitches, brain fog but you stillshow up. Still laugh. Still write blogs like this one. I underestimated you. Now I’m stuck with a warrior. Which is… inconvenient. Also, don’t think I didn’t notice that time you fell trying to take off your sweater. Your wife laughed way too hard. I kind of enjoyed it.
You: What do you do when I laugh at you? When I keep going? When I love in spite of you?
MS: I… glitch. I stutter. I unravel just a little. Because when you laugh at me, you steal my thunder. When you keep going, you make me feel irrelevant. And when you love in spite of me? That’s when I know I’m losing. You’re not just surviving you’re winning.
You: If I ignore you, will you go away?
MS: Pfffft! I wish. You can’t ignore me forever, but you can decide how much space I get. I might be here for the long haul, but I don’t have to be the one running the show. That’s all on you.
You: What were you before you showed up in my life? Were you always lurking?
MS: I was just potential. Hiding in your DNA like a plot twist waiting for its cue. You probably walked past me a hundred times before I said hello. I was quiet… until I wasn’t.
You: Do you ever feel guilty about what you do to people?
MS: Guilty? C’mon. That’s a human thing. I’m more… mechanical. I don’t feel pain, or remorse. But sometimes, when you cry and still choose to laugh? Yeah. That messes with my programming. I don’t know what that feeling is… but I don’t like it.
You: Why do you love surprises so much? Couldn’t you just send a calendar invite?
MS: Where’s the drama in predictability? I’m jazz, baby. Chaotic, unplanned, but always present. Besides, if I told you what day I was coming, you’d plan around me. And I hate being ignored.
You: Have you ever met someone you couldn’t break?
MS: Way more than I’d like to admit. You humans are annoyingly resilient. I bend bones, I scramble signals, I snatch energy—and some of you still stand tall. You adapt. You evolve. Honestly? It’s exhausting. For me.
Enough about me, what do you think of me?
I am from BK all day.
MS: Alright, alright… enough about me. I’ve done all the talking here, and if you know me, you know I love the sound of my own disruptions. But now I’ve got some questions for you, Jonathan.
You walk around like nothing’s bothering you, but I know better. I live in your nervous system, remember? I see you. So, tell me…
Why haven’t you given up on me yet? Most people would’ve crumbled by now.
You: Because I’m a warrior, and warriors don’t crumble. I bend, I crack, I even curse into my pillow when you catch me slipping. But I don’t fold. I know this relationship between us is going to get messier over time. Toxic, even. But I won’t give you the satisfaction of watching me quit. I’m built too tough. Brooklyn raised, L.E.S. polished. That’s a lethal combo, even for you.
MS: Touché. How do you still laugh when I’m clearly trying to steal your joy?
You: Because joy doesn’t come from perfect balance or endless energy it comes from perspective. You might trip me up, but you can’t touch the punchline. You ever try to be depressed while cracking jokes about peeing on yourself in public? It’s damn near impossible. Laughter is my rebellion. And trust me I have range.
MS: You are something else. What do you tell people who can’t see me but still question your pain?
You: Depends who’s asking. If I don’t like them much, I tell them my disease is contagious and to keep their distance. If I’m feeling patient, I say: “Just because you can’t see the storm doesn’t mean the house isn’t shaking.” Invisible doesn’t mean imaginary. And honestly? If I had a dollar for every sideways glance I’ve gotten, I’d have a personal chef, a private driver, and a therapist just to keep me from slapping people. I’m kidding. (Sort of.) I already have a therapist. She’s dope.
MS: You’re funny. I don’t like that. Okay so does it bother you that I’ve changed how you move and think… sometimes even how you speak?
You: Yes. At first, I fought it with disbelief. I grieved my steps. I chased down words you stole from my mouth. I hated how simple things felt foreign. But eventually, I adapted. Not because I wanted to, but because life moves on, and I refused to stay stuck while you played dress-up in my nervous system. Funny thing is, I think deeper now. I speak slower, but with more weight. You didn’t break me—you rewired me. You gave me no choice but to transform.
MS: Hmm. Noted. You really out here flipping my chaos into character development. Let me ask you this, when I knock you down, what gets you back up?
You: First of all, let’s not pretend like you’re subtle with those knockdowns. But yeah, I’ll tell you the truth. It’s love. You’re up against the love of a wife who sees her strong man get weak, but never backs away. You’re up against the laughter of my kids, whose lives I get to witness from the front row as they grow into beautiful humans. You’re up against my stubborn Brooklyn blood and Lower East Side grit. You’re up against faith that whispers, “Even this is part of the plan.” So yeah, bring your best shot. Just know I’m built for the long game.
Family softens the blow for me.
MS: Wow. Challenge accepted, Mister. Be honest are you scared of me? Or more afraid of what I can’t take from you?
You: In the beginning? Yeah, I was terrified. I thought you were a death sentence in disguise. I feared the falls, the forgetfulness, the looks of pity in corporate boardrooms, friends and family. But now? I’m more afraid of dying without really living with you in the picture. You’ll take a lot from me, I’ve accepted that. But you don’t get to touch my purpose. You don’t get to dim my voice. You sure as hell don’t get to block my view of God in the wreckage. That’s off-limits.
MS: Damn. Okay… do you ever wish we never met? Or have I become some weird, unwanted teacher in your life story?
You: Both. I hated you—still do some days. But I also get it now. Even enemies can teach. You slowed my body, but sharpened my soul. You made every sunrise feel like a trophy. So yeah you’re that uninvited teacher no one likes, but who ends up changing everything. And me? I’m the student who showed up anyway, took notes, and still plans to pass this class with honors.
Photo Credit: Jay
MS: Wow. This interview’s been… enlightening. I didn’t expect all this. You seem like a good dude. I was designed to disrupt to cloud your thoughts, steal your steps, poke holes in your peace. But somehow, you turned my chaos into meaning. You turned my attacks into metaphors. You son of a bitch you. I’ve watched you cry in silence. I’ve seen you laugh through pain. I’ve watched you pray… or meditate, or whatever you call it in the dark. You love louder than my noise. I may never leave you, but you’re not living with me. You’re living in spite of me. And that, my friend, makes you dangerous. Now, if that’s all for today, I’ve got other lives to interrupt, so I must leave now.
You: Hold on, hold on, I get the final word. You’re right. I didn’t choose you. You arrived like a storm with no warning, no apology. But I’ve learned to breathe in the rain. I’ve learned to dance with the dizziness. You took a lot. But I took it back in strength, in grit, in faith stitched into every cell that still fights. You’ll keep trying. I’ll keep rising. And every time I do, remember this:
You are a condition. I am a soul. And souls don’t quit. I would tell you to have a good day, but I couldn’t care less. By-eee!!
Final Thoughts.
If you’ve made it this far thank you. This wasn’t your typical blog post, and neither is living with MS your typical experience. Whether you’re someone battling this condition, loving someone who is, or simply trying to understand it better I hope this conversation gave you a deeper look into what it feels like to live with an invisible, unpredictable guest.
This post wasn’t written to make you feel sorry for anyone. It was written to make you see someone. Maybe yourself. Maybe a friend. Maybe the strength that often gets hidden behind fatigue, brain fog, and humor.
MS may be a part of my story, but it doesn’t get to write the ending. Neither does your pain. Or your diagnosis. Or your doubt.
The truth is, we all have something we’re living in spite of. And if you’re still showing up laughing, loving, stumbling forward with tired legs and a strong heart then you’re not just surviving…
I have to admit, when I first thought about writing a blog, I was nervous. I was basically sending out an open invitation for criticism and opinions from others—like setting up a dunk tank at a clown convention. And let’s be honest, this planet is filled with a whole lot of colorful characters—some ugly, some warm, loving, and genuine, and some who seem like they were put here just to test your patience. But in the end, I hope to connect with people who are just like me, people who can relate in some way to my journey.
Now, I love to talk (to the right people—because let’s face it, most people just drain your soul). But I never liked typing or writing essays in school. Yet, here I am, doing exactly that. Writing has become a tool for self-discovery, healing, and making sense of my journey with Multiple Sclerosis. Who knew that my iPhone’s Notes app would turn into my personal therapist? And let me tell you, it’s way cheaper than an actual therapist, though it occasionally crashes just to keep me humble. Through this practice, I’ve started uncovering the person I’ve always been. I gather pictures to stamp moments in time, realizing that the best of my todays will eventually be the worst of my tomorrows. It’s like watching old videos of yourself dancing—you thought you were killing it at the time, but hindsight is a cruel, cruel judge. When I look back at these posts, I see a guy who is pushing through life the best way he knows how. The suffering transforms into self-discovery—or at least a really solid excuse to stay in bed longer.
I often spend hours wondering what my life would be like if I weren’t sick with MS. Would I be a better dad, husband, or friend? Would I be a more loyal employee? What new injury would I have gotten from the gym? (Because let’s be real, I was never built for CrossFit-level heroics.) These thoughts cycle through my mind now and then like a bad infomercial—”But wait, there’s more existential dread!” Over time, my perspective on life has shifted. I sometimes see my illness as a bizarre kind of blessing—a test from the universe, or God if you believe. It sounds crazy, right? To just drop your hands and let MS throw haymakers at you, each punch taking a little bit more of yourself. And while MS isn’t a “death sentence,” I still treat it as if, at any moment, my vision, limbs, bladder, or lungs could give out for good—like a used car that keeps making that “I’m about to die” noise but somehow still gets you to work.
But I call this a blessing because it has given me a perspective I never would have had otherwise. I’ve become infinitely patient, understanding that the day will come when my health reaches critical mass. I don’t want it to happen, but I know it’s inevitable—it’s part of the MS journey. They say, “The best is yet to come,” but for me, it sometimes feels like “the worst is yet to come.” And hey, I like a good plot twist, just not when I’m the main character.
The first time I mentioned my feelings about MS was probably on a social media platform. I can’t remember exactly, but I do remember how I felt after writing about my diagnosis. I felt lighter, calmer—but not quite accepting of it yet. I was upset and sad, but I figured if people read my words, maybe they wouldn’t ask me about it when they saw me—because, let’s be real, small talk about chronic illness is a social landmine. “Hey, how are you?” Do you want the real answer or the ‘I’m fine’ package? That’s one main reason I don’t like to talk about it.
I started publicly journaling my journey so I could leave something behind in this world. I even have a few podcast recordings my family can listen to when I eventually retire this meat suit. Looking back at my posts, I see a completely different person from who I used to be. I’m a warrior—not with a spear, but with resilience as my weapon, a shield of positivity, and a grenade brought to you by humor. Its radius spreads distortion and love in equal measure. And if that’s not a way to fight back, I don’t know what is.
So here I am, documenting my life, cracking jokes, dodging metaphorical punches, and hoping that one day, all this nonsense will make perfect sense. Or at least get a few laughs.
Rethinking
The first time I mentioned my feelings about MS was probably on a social media platform. I can’t remember exactly, but I do remember how I felt after writing about my diagnosis. I felt lighter, calmer—but not quite accepting of it yet. I was upset and sad, but I figured if people read my words, maybe they wouldn’t ask me about it when they saw me—because, let’s be real, small talk about chronic illness is a social landmine. “Hey, how are you?” Do you want the real answer or the ‘I’m fine’ package? That’s one main reason I don’t like to talk about it.
I started publicly journaling my journey so I could leave something behind in this world. I even have a few podcast recordings my family can listen to when I eventually retire this meat suit. Through these posts, I see a completely different guy from who I used to be. I’m a warrior—not with a spear, but with resilience as my weapon, a shield of positivity, and a grenade brought to you by humor. Its radius spreads distortion and love in equal measure. Sometimes it’s just enough to make people uncomfortable, which, let’s be honest, is half the fun.
I never expected to find strength in writing, but here I am, documenting my life, cracking jokes, dodging metaphorical punches, and hoping that one day, all this nonsense will make perfect sense. Or at the very least, confuse and entertain people in equal measure. And if that’s not a legacy, I don’t know what is.
If I’ve said it twice, I must be proud—writing has helped soften the suffering. When I re-read some of these posts, I notice how much has changed—not just in my disease but in my outlook. And you know what? My perspective on myself hasn’t really changed. I love myself. Sh*t, I’ve got the biggest crush on myself. I just wish I loved myself enough to get stronger. Which leaves me with questions—if I worked out every day, would I have a fighting chance? Would I walk again? Probably not. Besides the serotonin rush and that feel-good medicine, why am I still exercising? Maybe just to see if it makes a difference, even by a little bit.
The Role of Writing my Journey
Writing has helped me rediscover pieces of myself that I thought were lost—like old receipts in a winter coat. I never thought I’d have a disease that would challenge not just my body but my mind. Honestly, I didn’t think I could handle MS. But here’s the thing—I’ve learned that there’s nothing it can take from me that will break me. Not yet, anyway. As new symptoms arise, and the old ones get worse, I’ll always stay aware, always stay thankful, and always make the most of every day. I never imagined that putting words together for a blog would sound so much better than the chaos bouncing around in my ADHD-powered, 4K in 3D surround-sound brain.
For those who matter to me they just need a nod that I’m doing okay, or maybe they need to have a talk and leave with a little inspiration. I’m no scholar, but I have life experience. That’s why I write—hoping that maybe, just maybe, something I say will spark a change in someone, whether in themselves or in this world, and with the latter this world needs a healing.
The Power of My Words in Healing
Writing is therapy for me, plain and simple. When I look back at my public blogs versus my private journaling that I do, there’s a big difference. My private writings are raw—full of the unfiltered rage and frustration that come with a relentless, incurable disease. In private, I yell, I cry, I let it all out. What are those feelings toward MS in my journal? Let’s just say if MS were a person, I’d be the stepkid and MS would be my mom’s angry, abusive, unemployed boyfriend. It’s unapologetic. I hate MS. I hate that I’m in my 40s stuck sitting down, watching life’s biggest moments from the sidelines, wishing for a cure that would put me back in the game for my fourth quarter.
This here is therapeutic. It’s either this or video games, and let’s be real, video games bring the calm way faster than sitting in a lotus position for 30 minutes. Well I can’t sit in the lotus position but you get what I mean. But through all this writing—whether for myself or for those who care—I gain perspective. I get insight into who the hell Jonathan really is. Because, honestly, who the hell is this guy? I hadn’t even met him until MS came barging through the door like an unwelcome houseguest. But here we are. Writing. Reflecting. Figuring it all out one page at a time.
The Intersection of Writing and Spirituality
Growing up in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, and later in Brooklyn, it was nearly impossible not to get into some kind of trouble. Yet, for reasons beyond my understanding, I always managed to dodge the kind of consequences that could have landed me in jail. My best friend and I were like two amateur magicians— always slipping away just in time. Looking back, I realize that some unseen force was watching over me, nudging me, keeping me from stepping too far into the abyss.
I never talked much about spirituality growing up, but my best friend’s mom recently told me I had always been a spiritual boy. Maybe that’s why I can accept my illness with a little more ease—because I believe this is what G.U.S. (God, Universe, Spirit) wants me to experience in this lifetime. Maybe, before I even got here, before I was Jonathan, I chose this path. Heavy stuff, I know—but that’s a conversation for another time, maybe a podcast where I can really go deep.
Writing isn’t just about MS for me. It’s about grounding myself, about documenting not just my struggles, but the thing that keeps me centered. If I’m going to put it all out there, I want you to know who I really am. And who am I? Just that…. absolute I AM. Nothing more, nothing less.
I like to think these words aren’t just mine, but something bigger flowing through me. The act of writing, to me, is like stepping into a stream—I don’t create the current, I just wade into it. Maybe, just maybe, the messenger is the message. Inspiration comes when you listen, and words become a bridge between the seen and unseen. Writing, for me, is meditation—it’s my way of having a conversation with the universe, of tuning into the whisper behind the noise, the quiet guidance beneath the chaos.
Some people pray, some people chant, some people sit in silence. I write. And in that process, I discover that I am not just the storyteller but also the story. I am both the question and the answer. And maybe, when I let go of the need to define or control it all, I realize that everything—every struggle, every moment of grace, every laugh, every tear—is exactly as it should be. I write to remind myself of that. I write to remember who I really am.
Me Myself, and MS 