silence

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Winter has arrived. I love the cold sharp air, the wet piles of autumn leaves, and the dark cosy evenings cuddled up with Ben and our book. I remember last winter so clearly – from the beginning of the cold days to very end, my immune system fought hard and lost in the battle against viruses. I went from virus to virus with barely a week of ‘normality’ in between; at one stage I even had bronchitis. Instead of just feeling awful from CFS/POTS, I had on top of that the weakness that comes from a body putting all its reserves into fighting evil lurgys, and spent a lot of time in bed. A normal cold in my weak and sickly body plays out as a full blown flu. I feel like crying as I write this – since the chilly days arrived a month ago, I have been sick with a virus and I fear that I will spend another winter in the darkness of ‘double-illness’. My doctor says there’s nothing I can do, and my blood tests show my typical swollen liver as it battles away. I have to wait, and stand aside as it flails around desperately trying to kill off the intruders. There’s a helpless feeling as I think about the coming months, and my weak immune system. Another winter in the home as I sleep, play my flute, knit, write, and generally try to keep my spirits up in the wilderness of feeling unwell. I know that if I take it one day at a time I will make it, sometimes half days is the only way to get through.

Do not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Sometimes I just cry. The thing I love about Ben is that he never asks me why. He knows. He knows that life is hard, and that words can never do justice to the feelings which dwell deep down. Each tear encapsulates a thought – fear, frustration, hope, longing, sadness, wonder, confusion, pain, and dreams put aside. The silence and the tears say more than I could ever offer in a book of my thoughts. He doesn’t even try to cheer me up, say something to ‘help’ or tell me to keep my chin up. There is a point where words are useless, and his arms and silence are the greatest comfort.

I wonder as I’m going to see a friend what I can say to help. And then I remember that just being there, and being an ear is all that is needed at times. Why do I think that I need to have something profound to say, when I know so well that human presence means the most? When I know that trickling tears are not solvable with floods of words?

my washing line

This is my quotes washing line – a mixture of things which make me and Ben smile, and things which we want to keep at the forefront of our minds. I go through a major quote fad, then suddenly find a new one which blows my mind, and promptly discard the old. That’s what I like about the washing line, I can peg up the latest thing which inspires me and take down the others.

I’ve always been the sort who feels exceptionally happy one day, followed by dark gloom the next – my diary is testament to a life of highs and lows. I don’t feel emotions by halves, they engulf me. I literally jump up and down when exciting things happen, and cry for hours by the tissue box in despair. I think this is one of the reasons I love quotes... memorable sentences which remind me of the important things, or remind me to stop taking my little life so seriously! 

lastest favourite quote

a true word

reading is a beautiful thing, make time for it

today

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Today I feel so joyful I could burst. This week I was blessed with three delicious days of good health and after a couple of months of mostly tough days, and it feels like golden sun descending on a gray city. On those days where I’m not in pain, I find myself smiling most of the time. I can’t believe that for the first 17 years of my life I took all those pain-free days without so much as a smile. I just assumed that I would wake up feeling fine, and go strong all day. I rarely felt grateful that I was alive and well. I didn’t stop as I walked to the kitchen, with a huge smile on my face, feeling the joy of a body which works. I didn’t relish the sensation of walking and running and standing and talking, without a struggle. I felt my health was a right, a given, an always – definitely not an extraordinary gift.  I was frustrated if I had a cold or a stomach bug, but afterwards I forgot the temporary interruption to my health and carried on, as ungrateful as ever.

If I had never become so sick, I would not be this joyful today as I experience and appreciate health, the beauty of being alive! The simplest thing makes me feel happy – going to the supermarket on a well day without having to wear sunglasses to shield my sensitive eyes from the lights, and walking around like a ‘normal’ person, putting things in my trolley. I feel excited as I do these things, unhindered by the illness which usually holds me captive. I feel so normal, and yet I suppose most other people in the supermarket aren’t rejoicing in their ability to get the groceries. It’s the little things, the things which I never appreciated, which I now treasure.

Tomorrow is an unknown – I might have another beautiful day, or I might be mainly couch bound. So I'm going to enjoy today’s moments, today’s sunshine.

Thankyou!

blog envy

Today I had an attack of blog envy. I was browsing one of those beautiful blogs – you know, the ones where the writer designs her own page, and takes scrumptiously creative photos, and writes inspiring words. She is stunning too, of course. I looked at my own frumpy page, my drab posts, my lack of comments...and I thought about how I didn’t own a camera or have the faintest idea about HTML. Suddenly I didn’t feel inspired by her page anymore, I felt flat and miserable.

And then I hurried off to the gym, where I had to stand right in front of the mirror because of my late arrival. I couldn’t avoid that life size picture of me right before my eyes. I noticed my fringe which was kinky from sweat, and these two hideous pimples which decided that my arm would be a nice place to bloom, bold magenta, for all to see...and then I glanced around the room and glimpsed this girl, this perfect girl. She wasn’t shaking and red with exertion; she just looked fresh and lovely. I looked back at me, and that horrible, slimy, Envy stared me back in the face. 

The envious person grows lean with the fatness of their neighbour - Socrates

So I plodded home and felt blah. If only I had the energy so-and-so has, if only I didn’t have to stay at home all day, if only it hadn’t been me...if only I was more talented and capable...if only we could afford this...if only....if.....if......

if only I wasn’t so envious I might stand a chance at joy.

I was thinking about ways to pry Envy off me, before he strangles me. I thought, well, I could just lock myself away inside my house, never look at blogs, never look at shops or other women....buy a blind fold and super-glue it on.

 But life is meant to be lived, not avoided.

I could choose to live life appreciative and thankful for all the blessings I have – focus so fully on what I am grateful for, that I begin to be thankful for other people’s good fortune too.

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So here’s a snippet from my ‘thankful for’ list:

Life itself, and fresh new days

Ben, who cherishes me

My family, who ‘get’ me and my long illness

The caring doctors, who bulkbill me and try hard to fix me

Our church, which is a place of love and God-focus

Dear friends, who lift my spirits and give me the giggles

Our sweet flat with its red door and balcony

My pure silver flute

The fast metabolism I inherited

My naughty fluffy rabbit

My ability to walk, talk, think, dance, laugh, cry!

Knowing that this life isn’t all there is

My ‘well’ hours and days

The arts – how rich they make my life

Books, beautiful books – and the ability to read

This peaceful country

The invention of chocolate (particularly 85% Lindt) and antidepressants...

Once I began writing my list, I couldn’t stop. There was far too much to record. I started feeling overwhelmed. And ashamed – for being such a selfish brat as to overlook my privileged and beautiful life. Ashamed of ignoring my blessings, and wanting to steal someone else’s.

It’s amazing how much happier I felt once I’d re-focussed; stopped comparing, stopped wanting and self-pitying. Next time Envy comes, I’ll slap the list in his face.

I am so blessed by a generous God.

grief

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i lie on the couch for the hundredth day

the flat is so silent, so still, so alone.

my heart feels this grief it cannot say...

i wish for a voice and i wait by my phone.

how many years will this illness linger on?

i hoped it’d be two, but it’s already three,

i wonder if sobbing would make it be gone.

i want to feel well, live a life pain free.

i long to study, to walk out that door...

and not return home till 6 pm.

 then flop on the couch, and not be sore,

and spend the evening with energy spare.

i have a good week, and i dare to hope,

then a rough patch which knocks back me down.

sometimes i feel i cannot cope -

in this storm, in this black, i might drown.

i used to be strong – to study, to work

but now i can barely remember those days...

my whole world has changed, greyness lurks,

and i feel this sorrow as my body decays.

why was it me? and will i get better?

and how do i keep plodding along?

i wish You would tell me, write me a letter.

i struggle to smile, to laugh, sing a song.

but there is a glimmer amid the pain...

that helps me strive to dance in this rain.

this life is a moment compared to the next.

This is my sickness song. It's worth the listen.

praise you in this storm 

by Casting Crowns

listen.

one of those weeks where i no longer cared about anything.

i didn’t want to pick up my flute. i couldn’t face baking muffins. i detested the idea of going to the gym, again. i felt scatty, so scatty. a foggy grayness settled over me, from the endless monotony of  daily routines.

i tried to make myself keep going, keep plodding along that well worn path. it only intensified my blahness.

 so i went to the library, chose three new books, and snuggled up to read them. i painted my nails, i gave my blog a face lift, i went to body balance instead of cycle, i wrote letters to my grandparents.

we make routines for our benefit, not our imprisonment. if your body is begging for some rest, it’s probably because it needs it. why do we ignore how we feel so often? if i’d listened to my body when i was a teenager, would I be chronically ill today?

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i’m feeling better. fresher. smiling. more motivated. sometimes the cure is so simple.

it’s not lazy to listen. it’s possibly the greatest investment into a healthy life. i wish i’d learnt this earlier.