My life with chronic pain: how I still function, and what keeps me afloat

People often ask me how I live like this, after covid changed my whole life.

How I still function, walk, create, look like a “normal” human being — while others with chronic muscle pain or post-viral syndromes can’t.

Not because I’m looking for sympathy, but because I know how many people are silently suffering and feel completely alone.

I just had to build an entire system of survival.

And I follow it every single day. This is what keeps me afloat.

1. Long-term daily medication

For almost five years I’ve been taking medications that raise my pain threshold, calm my nervous system and help me cope with the emotional consequences of living in constant pain with limited physical abilities.

I wish I could live without them, but my body is not ready yet. And that’s okay.

2. Daily manual work on every spasm in my body

Every single day I have to work through spasms in my entire body:

hands, feet, fingers, jaw, neck, shoulders, hips — everything. I have dozens of tools: therapressure canes, balls, needles, rollers. My muscles simply do not relax on their own.

We even have a massage table at home.

Mark follows a professional textbook and does deep myopressure. 

Sometimes I walk like I did right before leaving Ukraine — barely able to step without limping. Releasing these spasms is the only reason I can still walk at all.

4. Physiotherapy, acupuncture, and constant work with the body

This is not something I do “when I have time.” It’s a lifestyle. If I stop — everything collapses.

5. Meditation — my anchor in the storm

My Restless Leg Syndrome has been tormenting me for years. The only thing that reliably calms my body is meditation.

Not the “be zen” kind, but the deep practice that brings you back into your body instead of letting the pain control you. Meditation is honestly one of the greatest tools I have. ❤️‍🔥

6. Psychedelic therapy — my turning point

There was a time when I didn’t want to live. I woke up every day fighting the urge to give up.

And psychedelic-assisted therapy became the turning point that helped me rewire my brain, break old patterns and create new ones.

But these tools work only in the right hands, with proper guidance. They are not “for fun”. For me, they were a lifeline given us by nature. 

7. Medical cannabis for pain

I use prescribed medical cannabis every day. Not every strain works — some made everything worse, some finally helped me sleep and quieted the pain.

If you live in a country where it’s legal and medically supervised, finding the right strain can matter. For me, it became a crucial part of functioning.

8. No sport. No overexertion. Ever.

My muscles punish me instantly if I overdo anything.

Hikes, long walks, pushing myself physically — I always pay for it with unbearable pain and days of spasms.

There were countless moments when we had to call a taxi halfway home because my body simply refused to take one more step.

In the past, in such cases, I would constantly travel with syringes and inject myself with steroids for years, then take a muscle relaxant and I could walk again. But I don’t do that anymore.

9. Heat is everything

Warmth relaxes my muscles. Cold destroys them.

I use heating pads daily, take hot baths with salt, and avoid getting chilled at all costs. Overcooling my muscles even slightly triggers severe spasms.

10. Stress and sleep matter more than anything

Stress multiplies my symptoms instantly — by a million. Lack of sleep does the same. I have to protect my nervous system like it’s something fragile made of glass.

11. Stretching is not universal

Many people with chronic muscle disorders feel relief from gentle stretching after myopressure.

In my case, stretching makes everything dramatically worse. My body has its own rules — and I had to learn them painfully.

12. Aromatherapy, sauna, everything that relaxes the body

Heat, scent, sensory calm — all of this helps my muscles unfreeze at least a little.

13. Botox injections in my face and head

This part surprises many.

But when your entire body spasms at once, the facial and jaw muscles go into such excruciating tension that it becomes unbearable.

Botox reduces muscle contractions and prevents some of the worst episodes. Yes, at 29 I already get full face Botox — not for beauty, but to survive.

14. Surgeries, nerve ablation, IVIG — nothing helped

I went through two procedures where they burned nerves. I had IVIG infusions that gave me non-bacterial meningitis. Three days of ambulances. No improvement. Some things simply didn’t work for my body.

15. My work makes everything harder

I spend up to 10 hours editing photos. I try to reduce it, but it’s my job, my art, my life.

I edit covered in heating patches and tape, yet the pain still accumulates. This is the cost of doing what I love.

16. And one more thing that saved me: speaking openly.

For the first year and a half after all of this began, I didn’t tell anyone. It was hell. Silence is the most violent form of loneliness. The moment I started speaking about my experience publicly, everything changed.

People shared their stories, recommended books, offered knowledge, support, kindness, understanding. I no longer felt like I was drowning alone.

And now I try to help others the way I once needed help myself. So if you’re suffering:

don’t be afraid to speak. You don’t have to carry this alone.

This is my reality. My daily survival.

My way of staying alive, functioning, creating, loving, and being here — despite everything.

I hope that by sharing this, someone out there feels a little less alone.

For me — and honestly, for many people — the most important part of this entire journey is understanding why this illness or this pain came into your life in the first place. What it wants to teach you.

And the moment we truly pass our karmic lesson, when we finally learn what the Universe is trying to show us… you’ll see everything begin to shift.

Your life will change.

You will change — so deeply that you might not even recognize the person you were before.