Blunt.

This post is less interesting to read and more… Life. There is an expectation for me to post, and absolutely no desire to do so on my part. I’m prioritising my attempts to get a life (which, after my birthday for a brief period were going extremely successfully). Things are tough right now. I’m going through a lot, and I have needed, and continue to need, space to fall apart and re-assemble into a human that can deal with this situation. Forgive me for that (and probably for the standard of this post). Also, trigger warning (I’m getting so sick of writing that so sorry if you’re sick of reading it).

My birthday was great. Seriously, it actually was. My smile was genuine for the first time in months. I was given the present of human presence, and managed to gather six other humans to join me for a meal out in Covent Garden (London), and then a trip to a gelato place (where I had the most delicious crepe ever and they cut the ice cream into the shape of petals so it looked like a rose in a cone) and then a slow stroll along the Thames. Many photos were taken by my friends so I have memories to hold on to. I have never laughed so much in my entire life. I felt 21. I was with people, I was back where I loved to be. I felt like I mattered but could not comprehend why… And I was so stunned I just couldn’t believe it was real. 

So reality hit me. Or rather, Skippy (my heart) teamed up with reality, and I was rendered unconscious on the London Underground at a tube stop that means both uni and (until the new year) home. I was beyond devastated. My heart was being an arse, basically. As the paramedics wheeled me through the ticket barrier before carrying me up two more flights of stairs, I made them stop so I could tap out my Oyster card. This was, and still is, the achievement of the year for me. After the paramedic telling me that if he let me out of his ambulance my heart would probably stop and he’d just be following me round London all night scraping me off the floor (he also told me I’d just have to have a second birthday and do it all over again just without the hospitals), I ended up in A&E with three of the best humans to be in A&E with. They stayed, they entertained, they made me laugh, they calmed me down. They went out and brought back McDonald’s at 2am. They were totally chill. 

My heart was totally not, but that was fine because my surgery is on the 22nd, so I was told I really did need this procedure, and to take it very easy until then. This procedure, if it works (50% chance) is going to change my life. The reluctant and cautious hope that this slow and involuntary realisation injected into my mind, filled the cavernous void of nothing that had opened up within me. And there was suddenly… A point. There was a point to me again. There was a point to existing, or at least, to resisting the urge to terminate my existence. There was a purpose for every action. Because there was a future. A chance at one. 

I’ll be able to attend lectures at university, I’ll be able to walk about without sleeping for six hours afterwards, and I won’t be worried about the ticking time bomb I feel lives inside of me. No more fear. Or at least, less of it. And maybe even at some stage, a chance at running… A chance at a life. A chance to be closer to normal than my heart has let me be for a while, instead of sleeping all the time and breathless and swollen and wheezing and unable to even lift my head sometimes. And that picked me up. For the first time since November, I was an almost fully functioning human. In three days I did 24 hours of work. I made lists and organised myself, and got into a routine. I started showering every day again. I cooked my food from fresh instead of buying something factory made. I let myself hope. I lost myself in this protective little bubble that surrounded me even in the tough times, warding off the worst and keeping my mind (and my mood, most of the time) intact. It was like having a force field and a superpower; a presence that I welcomed with relief. And that’s something I never let myself do.

It’s something I shouldn’t have let myself do. It’s something that is never safe. In letting myself climb and be lifted, I set myself up for a fall.

My surgery was cancelled last week. A “life or death” maternity case needs the slot. Two lives lost without it I guess. All of the above stopped. I lost myself in a void. I very nearly terminated my own existence. I very nearly drew my own blood. I sat in the darkness on the floor for three hours and cried. I lost everything, because I lost the hope I had accidentally been relying on and I was in no state to survive the fall. There’s a time when I probably would have explained my feelings here, explained why I was ashamed and guilty for attaching enough value to myself to feel upset at all and all the rest of it. But it still doesn’t feel safe to share here at the moment. Needless to say I have relapsed a little. Less so now. Denial is my home again. And it’s where I’m going to have to stay. My fellow third wheel and I are going to London tomorrow for the day – we’re going shopping and to see a film that he’s seen but that knows I really want to. We were meant for be going for a drink, but I can’t do that now. My entire family is against me going. If I go to walk anywhere or do anything they tell me to think of my heart. But life is about both mental and physical health, and I cannot just sit festering in my thoughts. 

I don’t want to be limited. I physically feel, and am being treated, like I just turned 80. I need to go places, see people, let my mind feel 21. Yes my birthday annoyed my heart, but I was on a knife edge and had been planning on ending my life. I’d go through all the heart drama again for another evening like that. When I’m thinking of other stuff, I forget that I’m scared, I forget that I’m lost, and I forget that I’m hollow. I hate my body right now. I’m angry at it. It’s all that people see, and now those people are joining forces and helping it to limit me. Every part of me rebels against that. I won’t stop everything, why should I? Because a cardiologist took away my hope? Should I die inside to stay alive? What is the point in existing if you have no will to live? I’d top myself before I ever made it to the 19th of April, without continuing my walks in the woods, and the chance to socialise (because this house is NOPE).

I was meant to be having surgery to remove Cedric (growth in my nose) on the 12th of April, and now can’t have that general anaesthetic, because my heart is an unreliable poop. Cedric has now grown to such a size that he obstructs my entire nostril, and is also pressing on a nerve, resulting in nerve pain that runs from my sinuses right through my face and down into my front tooth. Cedric was meant to be removed ages ago, and the surgery has already been delayed 3 times because of my heart. 

My body continues to rebel. Along with the new Cedric pain, Skippy has decided to intermittently hurt in ways he never has before. Through to my back, numb left arm, neck, jaw and then pain in my jaw… Accompanied by the urge to vomit and a tiredness so overwhelming I cease to function and then sleep for hours. I tell myself that I am an idiot, and it will stop, and that there’s nothing that can be done until that procedure (which can’t happen any sooner because it is such a complex case that it needs specialist people present)

And if they are rebelling, why not let my immune system join the show? Yesterday I changed my infusion set to find a small volcano in my stomach (a red lump with a hole left by the cannula in the middle of it which usually closes up pretty quickly). Grossness occurred, confirming my suspicions that somehow my immune system had allowed my subcutaneous tissue to be infected by a supposedly STERILE cannula inserted into a THOUROUGHLY DISINFECTED site. So I went to the GP today. I’m meant to have antibiotics at home because my immune system loves to welcome visitors into my body so often, but I ran out, so she prescribed me enough for my acute issue, and then some more to replenish my supply. She investigated the hard lump that has formed deep below the little volcano, and concluded that it was a collection of infected material and/or gloop about half a centimetre beneath my skin which was pushed much deeper by the cannula and has decided to set up home. If it doesn’t go down within a few days on antibiotics, or gets worse, it needs to be operated on. BUT… MY HEART + surgery that isn’t specifically for it = NOPE.

I’m dealing with normal life stresses. Family dynamics and issues that make me feel… like hurting just to replace the emotional pain with something that can’t last. Behind my health, I am a whole normal person, and most of the time normal life stuff is harder than being unwell. People forget that. I can’t talk about my emotions right now. They are… for my mind only (and my counsellor, a fairly recent and priceless addition to my life) and I cannot deal with being misunderstood right now. 

Reading all this, things aren’t even that difficult. I just no longer have the strength to remain resilient, and letting myself go through the process of feeling what my brain decides to feel stops me breaking down again. I’m trying to find my motivation. University are being absolutely amazing and offering me support that makes my life so much less stressful, so that makes it slightly easier for me to try and think about uni work. But honestly, all I can do right now is hug my dog and play Sim City and go for long dog walks with my surrogate mother (next door neighbour). I’m trying to get a life. But before that, I need to just figure out how to get to a place where I can start. 

I know it’s only four extra weeks until the surgery…

But 4 weeks is a long time to be scared.
Despite featuring in this post, my heart just isn’t in it. I hope you’ll all understand if I just stay away for a while. This just isn’t… Me, right now, and it’s hard enough trying to act more ok than I am on person, I just want to withdraw and just… Rebuild. Possibly. Because honestly, I’m on the edge of existing or erasing that existence right now, and I’d like to try and go with what’s right by everyone else, instead of what’s easiest for me. Which is going to take… Everything I have.