Honesty time. On a regular basis, I feel guilty. I feel guilty not just for how much these chronic illnesses have destroyed me, but for the effect that they have on everybody around me.
I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.
I know that I am very lucky to have people that care about me. I know you will all tell me that I don’t need to be sorry. I know that’s true. I know that you’ll reassure me that although this situation is horrible, you realise that it affects no-one more than it affects me. It doesn’t stop me feeling bad. It doesn’t stop me wishing that you didn’t have to worry about me getting sicker, getting even worse, struggling more than I already am.
When I wince in pain, I see a different kind of pain mirrored in your eyes. I don’t want to just be better for me, I want to be better for you too.
I miss the old me and I know you miss the old me too. The old me would strut into a room, confidently. The old me would dance on tables and make you laugh with my ridiculousness and lack of care for what anybody thought about me. The new me? The new me hurts. The new me needs help to stand. The old me would fall into bed, giggling, wondering how I was going to survive work tomorrow. The new me gets carried to bed with tears streaming down my face and pulls his arms around me wondering how I’m going to survive at all.
But this isn’t just me. It’s us. You’re all hurting too, and I’m sorry.