Who am I…
Who am I…
These days I’m not really sure, I used to be fun to be around. I used to be a laugh and a first to the party, last to leave kinda lass. Now the idea of leaving the flat to go as far as the safety of the car stresses me out to the point that it makes me cry sometimes.
I used to be in Musical Theatre groups, standing on stage singing to a sell out 500+ audience in the local theatre for a week of performances – nervous, sure, but I still did it and boy it felt good.
Now, I don’t even want to sit in the audience never mind anything else.
I’ve gone through “low” times before but this time feels different. I’m in no way suicidal or would ever think of harming myself, but I have to be honest and say if I wasn’t here anymore that would be OK too. I’m not scared of dying. I think watching my dad pass so peacefully helped me make comfort with it in a strange way.
I’m not really sure what my purpose in life is anymore. I can’t really explain what I mean by that – of course I have a purpose. Of course I’m here for a reason… but what is it? My daily care and support to my parents over the last maybe 10 years became in a way, my main focus – my reason to be. Yeah I grumbled about it sometimes, who doesn’t moan when they have something responsible they need to to do when something fun is also an option – but in the main, mum and dad came first. Even if it meant going to a night out but driving and heading to theirs afterwards just to check on them – sometimes just parking outside their house at night for a wee while to make sure all the lights were out, knowing that meant they were both in bed.
All of a sudden, they don’t need me anymore. BANG… all that responsibility gone at the one time. Now what.
People keep telling me it’s time to focus on me.
Get my own life back.
Find my fun again.
I don’t really know how.
I would say I am currently at my lowest of lows. My flat is an absolute bombsite. I have this irrational fear of falling and struggling to get back up again (it’s happened a couple of times) so taking the bin bags out to the big commercial bins behind the flat has become a major task – I took one out the other day using one of my dads walking sticks as a support and was so chuffed with myself I had to tell someone… how ridiculous is that! Celebrating putting a bin bag out! WHO AM I???
I then get annoyed with myself for being so ridiculous and rather than that spur me on to just get a grip and put the other rubbish out. I will. I know I’m doing it, I know I only have myself to blame – but I can’t seem to push past it.
I have a condition called lymphoedema which affects both my legs. At present both legs are more swollen and sore than they have ever been, the swelling is now way up past my knees some days which makes it painful to walk, stand, sit or even sometimes lie down. Doing stairs or driving is near impossible at times as when the swelling is bad it’s hard to bend my knees or move my ankles properly. I know I need to go to the dr again about it, but as a condition, there is very little that can be done to help it apart from compression wear which I’ve tried in the past and it hasn’t been terribly effective.
I’m also fat. Fat fat fatty… that’s a line from one of the shows my club did once, The Producers. It’s a comedy line, which the audience roared at as in the context of the show it’s funny.
In real life, not so. It wasn’t my line, in fact I wasn’t even in that production – but it still sticks in my head.
I’ve always been heavy, as a child, teen and all through my adult life but I would say I’m most certainly at my heaviest right now. It’s another reason I don’t want to leave the house.
I’m so ashamed and embarrassed by the state of me.
I used to like me. I don’t really like me anymore, not right now anyway.