I haven’t written a blog post in a few weeks because I’ve
just been trying to ignore everything.
I want to be normal.
I really want to be normal.
And I had started to convince myself I was getting back to
normal. But I wasn’t.
I hadn’t really tried going out anywhere for days and had
started to ignore my good eating plan, baking cakes and ordering in pizzas when
I was tired or used the excuse that I had people over so it was fine to eat
shit. Then I realised I’d stopped napping so much during the day. Win for me!
Not so tired!
But it’s because I’d stopped doing anything.
This weekend I’d convinced myself I was fine and went to
volunteer with my fellow W.I group to help backstage at a charity burlesque
night.
I started feeling off within about 5 seconds of arriving at
the venue. It was up a huge flight of stairs, so I was out of breath and sore
by the time I entered the room. I then ended up lifting a bunch of heavy boxes
to clean the space up after everyone disappeared apart from me just before we
opened (an unfortunate timing of people grabbing food and getting ready).
Then during the night I was on my feet non-stop for a couple
of hours helping to man the cloakroom. I sat on the floor because some twat
decided to take my chair away.
Then it happened.
Someone told me I wasn’t getting involved enough and that my
attitude was really negative.
This stemmed from me asking if someone else could take
raffle tickets round because I needed a break.
Instead of explaining I was recovering from heart failure I
just packed up my things, texted my boyfriend to come pick me up and left with
tears streaming down my face.
She didn’t know my situation. But she could have assumed
something was wrong instead of automatically labelling me as lazy. Short of it
is, a total dickhead made me cry.
And when I got home I realised I’d spent the last few weeks
hiding. I’d thrown myself into bits of work at home and also into sorting out
my partners 30th birthday celebrations. I did all this sat behind my
laptop in my bedroom. I’ve barely even been downstairs!
I’d put everything on hold trying to convince myself I was
ok and normal. Because if I don’t try to go out, I won’t be reminded of how
limited I am physically. I can just avoid all people and I won’t have to
explain myself to those who think I’m lazy or rude.
I also didn’t have to think about my scan results, or dwell
on my medication or think about dying so much.
It’s been a slow realisation, but I’m glad I caught it. This
is how I used to act when I suffered with my depression. I really don’t want to
fall back into that, and if I keep going down this path I will.
I’m booking myself in to talk with a therapist about everything.
I’m tired, I need help and I need to start clawing my life back.
I urge anyone going through a similar massive health
issue/scare to do the same. Talk this shit through with someone.
You go from normality to being confronted with your own
mortality in the most unsettling and visceral way. It is going to knock you for
six.
So let it out. You’ll feel better…or maybe you won’t. But at
least we can scream at someone about how fucking unfair it is, how scared we
are and just vent every little frustration.
It’s hard, you can’t confide too much in family or friends…because
it’s a pretty fucking heavy subject. And I don’t want to burden anyone with
that.
I need to start trying to move forward again.
If my heart were a person I would punch it in the face.
Heart Failure sucks.
