I don’t live in the same world you do. I guess, technically, no one lives in the same world as anyone else as we all perceive things differently and have different experiences and different friends and so on and so on.
What I mean is, I don’t live in the real world. And I haven’t for almost two years now.
Two years of my social contact being limited to whomever I’m living with and carers. Two years of not going shopping whenever I feel like it. Two years of hardly ever seeing my friends. Two years of not walking to the corner shop or chippy three minutes away.
Since my M.E. got worse, I have lived in my own world. I’m connected to the rest of the world online. I forget that other people don’t read blogs or watch Youtube videos. I forget that you haven’t been following the #ESAendgame on Twitter (which you should by the way). Even if you are chronically disabled and housebound like me, the chances are we still don’t inhabit the same online space as the interwebs is an incredibly large place. I forget that my world is vastly different from yours. And when I go back into your world, the real world, for a moment, I am struck by how out of the world I am.
When I’m alone in my room I am reading and resting and writing and resting and watching TV and resting and playing Sims and resting and going online and resting. This is my reality and I pretend I’m okay with that, because it’s not like I have a choice.
But I’m not.
I still dream of getting a part-time job; of being able to meet up with friends at the pub; to go clubbing and dancing; to walk around the grocery store (I’m too short to reach the top, but in a wheelchair I’m too short to even see the top). In general I just dream of living the same as everyone else.
I’m finding it difficult to know what to write about on this blog. I know that this is my space to do whatever I want in, but I just don’t know what I want to do with it. I don’t want to end up whining and complaining about my life as that would only have a negative effect on me. But I struggle to stay positive all the time because the truth is that I’m not. I’m depressed. I am lonely. And I constantly wonder ‘Why me? What did I do wrong?’ And the fact that I don’t live in your world just makes it even harder as I no longer know what the real world is like.
Perhaps one day I will be able to see the world you live in once again. Until then I’ll do what I’ve always done; I’ll keep writing and I’ll keep hoping.