A New Foundation…

Over the last couple of years, I’ve had a much more conscious and awakened relationship with myself. In many ways, it wasn’t a choice as, due to my spiralling ill-health, I shattered and fell apart on every level of my being. In truth it was an inevitable conclusion to reach as I’ve resisted aspects of myself for most of my life; they are parts of me I don’t like that much (we all have at least some of those!), but as I’ve got older, my resistance waned as the pressure within built up and started to crush my spirit from

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Building My Own House

I have always been blessed with a bright, colourful and vivid imagination. When I closed my eyes, a new world would come to life that was rich and diverse, fragrant and vibrant. I took my imagination for granted until the day I couldn’t anymore. These days my inner world is considerably starker as I have lost my ability to visually recall images. I can see a tree for example but when I close my eyes there is no tree present. I can look at my hand but when I close my eyes I see nothing. Although my imagination struggles to

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Courage

Sometimes we have to listen to the voice within and let it be heard; it’s a part of us after all. I did that last night, I was the lowest I’ve been in many many months and I felt myself slip into the gap between here and there, feeling no life within me and questioning my desire to carry on breathing. For a fleeting moment – that felt like an eternity – I didn’t want to be here anymore; I had nothing left. Writing about pain is unquestionably easier than swirling uncontrollably in a deep pit of it. Admitting one’s

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The Good Old Positive Mental Attitude

I’m not sure if I’m the only one with a long-term chronic condition that feels the way I do. Am I the only one feeling rather fed up with the PMA (Positive Mental Attitude) brigade? Feeling exasperated at the suggestion I should just smile, suck it up and think positive. Am I alone in having days where I want nothing more than to punch the PMA Fairy in the face? Okay, I don’t do violence, but you get the drift… To me, having a ‘PMA” is the willingness to push through the pain and malfunction in order to get up,

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The Fight Goes On…

As the junior doctors continue to stand up for their rights and for the future of the NHS, I feel a rising sense of frustration that, no matter what they do, the government won’t listen. As a frequent flyer in the NHS, I see a great many doctors. As a disabled, long-term sick person I already have access to a 7-day emergency NHS as does everyone. Perhaps it’s just me but I don’t want a 7-day routine NHS, I have enough appointments on Monday to Friday, I don’t want them at weekends as well. I despair when a scan appointment

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My Wheelchair Adventure & The Art of Allowing

I need a wheelchair. I can’t say I’m particularly proud of that statement, but it’s the truth. It’s not a long held dream of mine. My body is now too fragile and damaged and I can’t keep landing in ungraceful heaps on the floor. Obviously I’m hopeful I want have to spend the rest of my life in the seated position but, for now, it’s my reality. I spent a long time looking at wheelchairs. Most are huge and when I saw them, they made my solar plexus flip and I thought I’d vomit on the spot. Many are not

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Getting Over Myself

The last twelve months have, without doubt, been the hardest twelve months of my life. I’ve had to face the reality of being me and it’s not been easy. In fact, it’s been nauseatingly painful and exquisitely raw as I’ve realised just how desperately fragile I am. I’ve always been strong emotionally and spiritually, but even these have taken a battering this year as I’ve crumbled, shattered into pieces and turned to dust in a heap on the floor. However, like the soggy biscuit in the bottom of the tea cup, I’m not gone completely, just changed beyond recognition. Well,

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The Day I Woke

In truth, I’d never really acknowledged just how challenging it would be for me to put my struggles down in writing and then share them openly and wholeheartedly with others. I had no idea how it would feel to become completely vulnerable and transparent leaving myself nowhere left to hide. I had no idea how my confession of brokenness would be treated; in this world of ‘love and light’ spirituality, would acknowledging my fragility and lack of robustness be seen as ‘less than’ and I’d be dismissed as damaged goods? When I pressed the send button I had no notion

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The Others

It’s easy for me, relatively speaking. I’m living my illness. I’m at the centre of my world of disability, illness, doctors, tests and hospitals. I get on and do the best I can each and every day; I deal with the pain, nausea, dislocating joints, wonky autonomic nervous system, exhaustion and fragility. I live it as it’s a part of my everyday life. Although I’m more than my ill-health, it forms a big role right at the core of my being. A trip to the hospital, more bad news or time in A and E, all form a part of

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The D Word

Although this is written in the present tense, I wrote this in the spring of 2015. It didn’t feel right to post it until the dark clouds had started to lift… Well, 26/27 on the depression scale. Not quite full marks, but not far off. As I sat with my doctor discussing this score, I found myself strangely irritated that I didn’t manage a perfect score; what does that say about me? So, 26/27, in other words, severe depression, also known as reaching saturation point and, quite possibly the worst enduring all time low I’ve ever had. This score has

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