i dont get. here i am, two years down the line, feeling as unwell as ever. i thought that i got away with the weekend. emotionally spent. i thought with m.e that physically or mentally exerting yourself, you'd recieve a whack in the body which would tell you to slow down. i had'nt bargained on emotions playing a part. not usually one for tears, a few dropped this weekend in private. next morning i felt pretty unwell, thought nothing of it. i had thoughts running round my head, with my past, and future being full of nothing. thats not completely fair, but at the moment thats what it feels like.
a few close people that have made me feel uneasy in the past, have revealed sides of themselves which i instinctively knew exisited but didnt want to acknowledge. this has upset me a great deal. and when your in the muck ,wading through things with a b, of an illness like m.e you feel defeated.
im quite optimistic usually. and im sure things will spring back into shape. and if i could lose some of these symptoms, then i know that i could deal with things more efficiently.
i read the headlines yesterday sylvia plath's son commits suicide. i read the bell jar, read selected poems, years back. it kind of shocked me seeing this hulk of a man holding a fish, to me he looked a secure,safe person, solid. and his self was too much to hold on to.
i will read this post back in a few weeks and realise how low my writing was. i apologise.