Asdfghjkl

(I wrote this yesterday but for some reason after I hit publish it got lost in a void)

There is a lot of stuff I should probably be doing right now.

For example, I should probably be revising for the exam that I have to sit tomorrow morning, rather than being so stupidly excited about going back to London and being back at uni for a couple of hours. I should probably be applying for next year’s student finance, instead of writing this post just so I don’t go a day without posting anything. I should probably be in contact with a doctor or a nurse to inform them that I don’t want to spend all of two consecutive days in a London hospital 2 days after dragging myself to London for an appointment on the 8th, and the day before my next exam on the 12th (I can’t face spending all day in hospital for two consecutive days, and all the travel, and the environment, and the staff that I don’t want to have my life in their hands. It was stressing me out a lot, so my brain was all “why don’t we just cancel?” And then I realised that was a great idea, and instantly relaxed). Plus, I also have two hospital appointments in London again the next week on the 16th and 17th with yet more consultants, and I am not in the right state of mind at all to put myself in hospitals that frequently (I’ve decided that before I go back to Sidcup on the 16th I might stop by the aquatics centre in Stratford and go for a swim in the Olympic pool as a reward to myself).

I should probably be arranging how on earth I’m going to get to my exam tomorrow, rather than deciding that it doesn’t matter because I can’t remember how to chemistry and I hate maths so I’m going to fail anyway. I should probably be stressing  (with the rest of my exams I was getting a maximum of 20 minutes of sleep a night… For the whole time, which ended up outraging my already grumpy body/ heart/ kidneys, and putting me in a coronary care unit – I literally nearly killed myself for those exams) and yet I feel dead inside, I can’t bring myself to care; there is simply a crushing dread about returning to uni staff who I feel I create a lot of hassle for, and the roaring of everything else I am trying to overcome.

I revised a little yesterday. I hate maths. It bores me. And yet I loved it. I loved metal stimulation. It quenched my thirst for learning and I was happy, sat there making notes on something I dislike A LOT. I tried to revise today, but my mind wasn’t there. My mind isn’t there. My mind is everywhere else. It is being torn apart. I am being torn apart, and everybody thinks I’m fine. I try to talk to my mum and it either ends with her venting all her frustration at me, or with me feeling completely pathetic because she cannot understand what I am trying to say.

I went shopping with my nephew today. He wanted some weights for “his” room. We had a pretty nice time, we wandered really slowly round the shops as I limped on my currently wrecked legs. I ended up setting up my first ever direct debit. It wasn’t for me, it was for my nephew’s new phone contract. He is only 16 and doesn’t have a direct debit, and he needed an adult and a debit card to sign the contract, which is now in my name, because I’m an awesome aunt like that (even though I’m only 4 years older than him). I paused to have my eyes tested. The optician knew my uni and when he found out what course I was studying and what area of London I was from we briefly became distracted. My vision is pretty screwed, but I knew that anyway. I bought a few new books to read (I have boxes and bags of books I’ve bought both recently and over the past year. I have a huge weakness for books, always used to spend my pocket money on books when I was a young child. Now though, I think I have a bit of a problem.) and ANOTHER colouring book because it was called The Magical City and it has so many areas and landmarks of London in it that I know and recognise, which my heart couldn’t resist because I miss being in London SO MUCH (so badly wish I had somewhere to move into now instead of in September).

There were incidents. Other family members made me feel like crap. This time I was totally blanked in a video-chat between my nephew and my big sister (his mum), and my little brother was called to join it and spoken to over me. I was just totally blanked, after doing something pretty nice for her son, and I didn’t want a thanks, but a “Hi” might have been nice. I’m frustratingly, stupidly fragile at the moment. I think I’m a little lost, drifting, looking for the shore. And terrified that I’m going to lose my foot to this infection, because that’s how things like to go in people with diabetes or poor immunity or rubbish circulation and it isn’t at all like I have any of those things… Oh wait, I have all three…

I cooked dinner for my 13 year old brother and my nephew (and myself). I cleared up the entire kitchen. I unloaded the dishwasher to prevent world war five. It won’t be enough. I will have screwed up somehow because my parents always seem to find a flaw in my best efforts. With this in mind, I gave up on my entire family and sat down to write this blog post. I probably should have revised. I’m going to go and do that (who am I kidding, I’m clearly going to resume the colouring that I paused to write this post – I’m right handed but my right hand is messed up, so my left hand – which I taught to sketch almost as well as my right, and learned to write with – needs reminding how to hold a pen and write before tomorrow so this is technically actually preparing for my exam).

I will get over myself soon.

Excuse my whining and patheticness. But I want to portray things honestly. Sometimes I’m strong in the face of everything I’m dealing with, until I’m strong for too long, and then I end up this empty, lost, numb yet infuriatingly disheartened and emotional thing. On TV you see brave people. And in books. Serious illnesses are romanticised. People act so admirably. For a long time I felt so ashamed that I occasionally was bothered because I thought that nobody else was, and I guess I wrote this to show that if you think you’re being pathetic and you feel like you’re the only one who ever had a bit of a wobble… You aren’t. You’re being real. It’s allowed and inevitable, even if it isn’t expected.

Putty adapts and moulds and absorbs impact, but putty isn’t strong. Metal is strong, but put too much pressure on a brittle metal and it will break. Strength is not protection against breaking. Strength is the ability to break and remain with what little is left. Strength is the ability carry so much weight on your own shoulders that you shatter, rather than rolling over and admitting defeat. I’m telling myself this, but that’s not what society seems to expect. I feel like society expects me to be completely ok with my health and everything, to do something great in light of it and make a mark on the world. Because that is all society sees of the sick – the outstanding, the amazing, the people that leave me in awe and put the rest of us to shame; not nearly as often do we show the weakness, the emotion that we all feel but hide. Maybe instead of writing this post, I should be trying to show the highs and the lows experienced by people with health hiccups (I mean, I wrote a novel that did that but I will NEVER publish it). The mental impact of physical illness has at times to me felt worse than the illness itself. They do, inevitably, come hand in hand (I will post about this at some point, now is not that some point).

What even is this post?

I can’t even think right now, my brain is spitting out the human equivalent of “Asdfghjkl” – I cannot compute. Excuse me.

Anyway, yes, colouring revision.

No way but through.

(And my computer didn’t post this when I hit “publish” yesterday, so now my streak of blogging every day since THE FIFTH OF MAY is broken. Damn.)

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