Disappearing Plans

Plans used to be the air to my lungs and running their addiction.

I was forever accountable to a spread sheet, one travelled in my handbag along with my little black book noting every training run, every race, every time and another was stuck to a wardrobe, answering any question my husband had as to my whereabouts over the coming months.

A spread sheet still hangs on the back of my wardrobe like a gravestone and my little black book is now filled with doctors’ appointments and my daily symptoms. As for the plans, they are probably partying with my past somewhere, if you find them, let me know.

Each day is now spent focusing on the second in front of me, there is no energy to think ahead and some days there is little energy to focus on that one second. I am now in the hands of myalgic encephalomyelitis and she reminds me constantly of the little control I have on my own life.

She dictates if today is going to be a good day or a bad day, she decides when I have stepped outside my safety zone and she smiles at me from every angle of my couch, forever there as filthy air.

All I can do is play nice, respect her and be smart. Since arriving on my couch she has slowed me down, my brain has slowed, my feet have slowed, my arms have slowed and my reaction time has slowed, but in slowing me down she has opened my eyes. My house is now a home, once it was just a base camp from where I came and went; now it is my sanctuary, a home for my husband and I, our haven.

At present a recession is in full swing, homeowners clutching to their slates, banks breathing down drain pipes and beyond our world lies another, people in war torn countries, children vying for a future, refugee tents acting as homes, starvation rife, hope diminishing with every day.

As is often said to me “there are always those worse off” but honestly, there are, we should stop and think of those during our day, be grateful for what we have and never take a moment for granted.