I’ve been a bit of a miserable git lately, despite various health improvements. I’m still treating, people ask me how it’s going and I’m not sure how I’m meant to answer, I take about 30 pills a day and try not to get indigestion from them. They make me feel like I’ve tipped a vat of jam into my head and then let loose some very hungry wasps. So really, it’s going swimmingly, thanks. How do you explain that to someone who isn’t diseased?


I often feel like a total freak. It’s wonderful going out into the world, people look at me and see someone normal. But I don’t feel it. I feel like I’ve witnessed something so horrific that nothing will ever be the same again. I physically feel weak and vulnerable. I feel so at odds to the world I don’t see how I will ever fit in with it again.

I caught a viral chest infection thing from my partner. I didn’t have cold symptoms but I had this weird tightness/burning feeling in my lungs which was a sure sign I had new germs on board. I thought it might develop into a cold – I had the feeling that basically shouts IMPENDING DOOM at you until you give in and buy the cold & flu meds, stock up on tissues and practice your pitiful puppy face to make your partner make you cups of tea. I had that but the cold never developed. Instead all my usual symptoms got worse, I was in bed for a few days. I felt very similar to how I did before treatment, I was dizzy and nauseous. I vomited some very nice soup that looked decidedly less nice the second time I saw it. I had migraines, joint pain, tachycardia, palpitations, on and off fevers and I couldn’t see properly.

When you’re that sick and in bed, over dramatically waiting for death and gesturing so by putting your arm up to your forehead like a damsel in distress, it’s just taking the piss for you not to be able to see properly. What the hell are you meant to do all day while in bed if you can’t at least kick your friends ass at scrabble on the ‘Words with friends’ app? What’s the point if you can’t tell people in no uncertain terms why they’re a knob on Facebook over some political discussion? It really ruins it when you can’t focus on the words properly. I ended up going into the settings and changing the font to HUGE. Even so, only some of the text was bigger, many things was still so piddly I felt like getting a magnifying glass out. I suddenly turned into my mother and had to hold my phone right up to my face to be able to read anything. The shame.

Then the depression came. It’s not situational depression, as I call it. Situational depression is when you’re feeling down because your situation is crap and any normal person would feel sad in it. Like when your parent/best friend/soul mate/cat dies. That’s normal. But ‘chemical depression’ as I call it, is when there’s something wrong in your brain and you feel awful and nothing can change it unless the chemicals in your brain changes.

I had chemical depression. I went to bed feeling my usual chirpy irreverent self and woke up feeling like I should be dead. My first thought was actually ‘you should have died back then. You should be dead. Why don’t you just go and do it now.’ It was quite a heavy thought for first thing on a Wednesday morning when you haven’t even had a cup of tea yet.

The feeling stayed with me despite trying to fight it off with logic, reason, and a ‘share size’ bar of chocolate. Yeah because we all ‘share’ those packs don’t we…. ha ha ha! I wailed on Facebook, I moaned at my partner. Nothing made any difference. I was in miserable git central without a bus ticket out.

Then I remembered that I didn’t want to die from disease. Dying from disease just isn’t cool is it. I want my death certificate to say ‘death by misadventure’ preferably in some freak bouncy castle accident. Then I realised if I wanted to die in a blaze of hilarious obscurity I can’t lay in bed wailing on Facebook that I don’t feel well and it’s all a pile of baboon shit. Even if it is. Which is most certainly is, in case you hadn’t got the gist of it yet.

I need to try to enjoy life as much as I can despite the jam and wasps in my brain. Despite the soup vomit. I need to take the piss out of it wherever possible and make people laugh at my misfortune, because if you can’t laugh at others misfortune than what the hell CAN you laugh at?!

I always planned to go skydiving for my 30th birthday. I turn 30 in a few months now and I don’t think I’m well enough to go. It’s a major disappointment, but I’ll definitely go some day soon even if I’m not ‘fighting fit’. What’s the worst that can happen? If I have a heart attack on the way down hopefully they’ll put ‘death by misadventure’ on my death certificate and I’ll have died just like I lived; screaming my head off, pissing my pants and loving every second of it.



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