12 April 2013

The real ME and where I've been

As you may have noticed I've been absent from the blogging world for around three months now. My New Year's resolution of blogging three times a week, has really gone down the writing drain. Sadly, it's not due to the fact that I'm studying, writing a fabulous novel, spending my whole time dreaming of Ryan Reynolds (which does actually happen a lot),or living a glamourous life with Mr.Boyfriend and wearing gorgeous clothes every day. Sadly no. The truth is that for the past 12 weeks I've been stuck in the same anemic four walls.
Unfortunately I've not been captured by Bradley Copper and I've not been chucked in prison due to stalking Jude Law online. I've been stuck in hospital and spent Valentines day hooked up to a drip machine, Cupid would be proud. This was the same situation when I was absent from the blogging world in October too for seven weeks, I know how to have fun!
For at least the past seven months my wardrobe has consisted of pyjamas and baggy tshirts and the closest Mr.Boyfriend and I have come to a date night is watching Man v Food, while he stinks the room out with his McDonalds on one of his weekly visits, Dinner Date eat your heart out.
Sadly, this routine of mine is not a rare occurrence. The truth is that I'm not a well person and it's a long term problem. I wanted to keep this from you all and this will probably be the first and last time I properly speak about it. I was a firm believer in keeping my writing as me, the clumsy Christian Loubotuin obsessed Only Fools and Horses freak, who knows every line from every episode. My writing is the only way I can truly be ME, as my body affects every part of my life. Relationships, career options, family, what clothes and shoes I can wear (how dare it) and it took over 22 inches of much loved hair away from me. The bastard. (sorry Mummy Second Hand Rose)
But over the past few months, mainly times when I'm completely off my head with Morphine I've been thinking about talking about my life as it is, not how I'd like it to be. Writing about your 'life' is easy, you can edit things out and gloss bits up, we all do it. But writing about what your life is truly like day in day out can be a tricky task, especially for me.
Such as if I did a 'What's in my bag post' it wouldn't contain the usual items, there would be syringes, needles and pills all stuffed in my bag. Along with my favourite lipstick of course, no girl can go without that, not even an ill one.
It's one of the reasons I have a pseudonym, when I write as Second Hand Rose, I feel like it's my only escape from my body and my life, sometimes I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I'm not as egotistical to think that there are millions of people out there who actually care what I'm doing, what I'm wearing and how many Bourobon biscuits I've eaten in a week. It goes into triple figures if anyone is interested.
When I have flare ups of my illnesses like this, it's hard to keep writing. Especially when you're trying to sound all happy and upbeat, when really you just want to drown your sorrows in a box set of Murder She Wrote and a bar of Cadbury's. I've had a fair few flare ups in my time which are extremely hard to come back from and take every ounce of strength I have. Plus looking at all my heels gathering dust is a bit of an incentive too.
I don't even know if anyone will even take the time to read this, since I have turned into the blogging worlds version of an agoraphobic over the past few months and deserted you all. I'm not self obsessed to think that anyone even cares, after all I'm just a person at the end of a red and white polka dot covered Ipad, who rambles on about Rock Hudson and 50's dresses. I don't want this to sound like a boo hoo poor me post, but if you really want to know about my life, my true life then keep reading. Where's Piers Morgan when you need him?
When the gene pool decided to make me, they decicded to give me some rebel genes, causing my dear old body to be plagued with a few rare conditions with names that are impossible to pronounce when you're drunk. I won't bore you all with the details and turn into Wikipedia, but it is very debilitating and a lot of the time I am re-enacting Sleeping Beauty, due to chronic fatigue so I can sleep for hours, sometimes days, but without the seven dwarves around my bed, just a particurlarly furry snoring cat keeping me company.
I am in a lot of pain all the time and have over 20 dislocations a day of all my joints, my life really is like the Hokey cokey. I'm on a whole rainbow of pills, over 80 tablets a day due to other problems in my body. I also have to inject myself four times a day in my tummy with stuff that makes a wasp sting seem more appealing. They leave bruises on my stomach, so no bralets for me.
Fainting can be a common occurrence and its hard to sit up for long and standing up can be extremely exhausting. I've had to extremely lower my expectations in a day, sometimes just getting out of bed is an acheivement. Sadly the fainting is not like a gasp and hand across forehead faint like how women do in old films wearing a corset dress, with a sniff of Brandy or smelling salts suddenly bringing them back. This is more like me feeling odd and stumbling or wobbling saying 'I feel fai....' and boom whacking my head on the floor and working a sexy bump on my head for the next two weeks.
I hope to be back home soon as frankly I'm going out of my mind and trying to think of ways to reenact my own great escape, where's Steve McQueen when you need him. I've been having seven hours worth of infusions a day and reached over 300 of them, is that a good enough excuse to buy some new shoes? I've had a very fashionable line in my arm to the top of my heart for around five months, trust me they'll be in Vogue next season. I haven't had my hair washed for over six weeks (I'm unable to do it myself) and have only just painted my nails, so I'm looking very glamourous right now. I have gained around 70 pounds (5 stone) of fluid and my body has completely changed, including my face. I've gone from a UK 6-8 to a UK16-18 and I can't do anything to stop the fluid piling itself on. It's hard to feel like the person you are when you don't even recognise yourself. So don't expect any outfit or make up posts for a while, unless you fancy seeing my Tesco Value polka dot pyjamas.
I try to make the best of my life, but it is hard when I see people having the life that I would like and going to university, having a full time job and having a baby. So please enjoy what you've got as you're very lucky to have it, there are so many people i want to shake and say 'you've got a healthy body and can do what you want so do it'.
I have to work around my illnesses and write when I can and rest when I have to. I'm determined to have as much of a normal life as I can and become Mrs.Boyfriend and try to make my life feel worthwhile, ie. own lots of shoes.
I have an amazing family supporting me and the most amazing boyfriend I could ask for. He is always there helping me and comforting me and making me feel like a person, not just an illness. Within three weeks of our relationship I became very ill and the past two years my life has completly changed and he has stuck with me and been with me every exhausting step of the way. He is constantly telling me I'm beautiful, even though I have only worn makeup a handful of times since we got together. I look a total mess and nothing like the person he fell in love with, which frankly kills me inside everytime I look in the mirror.
He's gone from a guy I was introduced to at college who added me on Facebook to being my life, my heart, my soul, my world, my rock, my shoulder, my laughter, my smile, my future, my everything. He knows I'm not perfect, (he won't admit it) yet he stares at me like I'm the most perfect person he has ever seen and has been there for me when no one else outside my family was. He has stuck by me even though he knows full well that he's letting himself into a life of pain, worry, hospitals, doctors, distraught, heartache and frustration and yet no matter how many times I tell him it's ok to go, he stays firmly by my side and for that I will be forever grateful.
He sees me as much as possible and doesn't mind if we hardly ever go out and all we do is watch a series of Dad's Army yet again, while stuffing our faces as long as there is food he is ok, typical man. He does so much for me and has even offered to shave my legs, now that is true romance.
It's hard to feel like a person in hospital when you have doctors poking and prodding you about and the whole focus is on your body, but him and my family help me feel more like a person again, even it's just for an hour and having a conversation about last night's Eastenders or what to call a VW 60's mini van and even Skyping my cat, instead of pills, pain and scans.
So many 'friends' have come and gone due to my illnesses, as they seem to find it hard to deal with and don't know what to say to me. I get treated like a zombie, when really all I want to do is talk about Jude Law and the latest Chanel collection and eat lots of Popcorn while watching a romcom with them and I find a lot of the time I'm the one having to try and keep in touch. It's hard for people to see beyond the illnesses and see me still as the person they were friends with and its heartbreaking when I think I've made a true friend and then I have a flare up and then I am lucky to hear from them.
I'm not blaming them, I know they have their own life and going out and having fun is far more interesting then coming to see me and hearing about my latest complications and dodgy results. Plus it's hard to have things in common when they're partying and at uni while I'm sitting at home with my cat or in hospital.
So having you all as blogging friends, makes me feel more like an actual human being, rather then something from another planet.
It's also very difficult to understand what is going on inside my body even for doctors who often have never heard of it, as it is pretty complicated and they are not illnesses you hear about every day, so people tend to shy away from them and I don't blame them. Having serious illnesses have really made me realise what's important in my life. I have my best friend, I have Mr.Boyfriend, I have my family and a very demanding cat, so at the moment that's good enough for me. But Bradley, Ryan or Jude if you're reading this, feel free to get in touch.
Blogging has helped me have an escape from my life and writing about things that I love has helped me have an outlet. These past two years have been physically and emotionally exhausting and even though I feel incredibly weak a lot of the time, just writing and feeling like me for a while really helps, and you've all been a part of that.
I've started writing for Vintage Life magazine, which has been a hard task in itself every month while feeling so lousy, but I'm extremely grateful for them to let me air my ramblings to a wider audience, even if I do go on about the 40s just a tad too much.
Hopefully writing will forge a life for me and help me buy the hundreds of shoes that I desire. My doctors say I shouldn't wear them, but there is no way you can take this girl out of her heels.
I just have to take one day at a time, as how I feel can change from day to day and hour to hour. So thank you to you all for giving me that outlet and supporting me through it by reading my ramblings and leaving comments, if I could come and give you all a big thank you cuddle I really would.
So I hope to be back writing again soon and obsessing over clothes and Cary Grant yet again.
In the meantime, thank you very much for taking the time to read this, you all deserve to have a biscuit, or two, or three.......
Second Hand Rose