Fifteen

FIFTEEN

January marks an anniversary in my life that doesnt inherently call for a celebration. It signifies the days I first become unwell. The moment I woke up to find the room spinning around me and my world caving in on itself, never to be the same again.

This month marks 15 years. FIFTEEN YEARS. Quite literally, half of my life. I used to be reluctant to share that number for fear of adding to the anxieties of those with a recent diagnosis. I never want to be the poster child for the “failure to fully heal”. The personification of people’s worst fears. The reminder that someone can try everything in their power to get better, but might not get to the point you would view as worthy or triumphant. But please don’t view this time as 15 years I’ve lost; it is so very far from that.

Life has been lived. Hurdles have been overcome. Adventure has been had. Friends have come and gone, making space for souls more on my wavelength. Education has been halted, quit and reentered. A levels and a degree collected. Every holistic therapy tested. I have gained new family. Become a bonus auntie with a new niece on the way. I’ve supported my parents as they buried and scattered their parents. I have made connections that can break down the barriers of four walls and snap the shackles from our weakened ankles. I have held my childhood dog as she breathed her last breath, and welcomed a new dog who is the weirdest little soul I have ever met. I’ve been in the presence of my hero, watching her command a stage like no other. I’ve seen the master of comedy perform his last tour to an arena of awe struck souls. I’ve lived with strangers, and lived with friends, and existed with family and learned to live again. I’ve excitedly watched my friends travel the globe, fall in love, buy their first homes and welcome children of their own - all from the temporary purgatory of my childhood home. I’ve built boundaries and a business that I’m excited to grow and grow. I’ve written a book that I am almost ready to complete and let go of. I have laughed every single day and learned to let myself cry in front of others and not just wait until the dead of night to let myself feel my feelings, only to mask them again with the rising sun. I’ve dragged my failing, flailing body off the ground. Time after time after time again.
I’ve experienced peace, and panic attacks that shook the foundations of my very being. I’ve yo-yoed. I’ve shrunk and ballooned. And embraced all shapes and forms. I’ve been unable to eat, unable to keep down a sip of water. Then been able to enjoy meals I’ve prepared for people I love. And shipped creations I’ve made around the UK, to bring slices of joy to my lovely customers. I have actual customers who buy my products. I still pinch myself with every order that lands in my inbox. I have crawled from my bed to the bathroom, collapsing, pausing for breath and praying for life on the landing. Broken by the simplest of mundane tasks. I have taught myself to walk again. Step after step. Lamppost to lamppost. I have danced for hours upon hours. I have traveled, and stayed still, and listened to my body enough to know how far it can manage. I have pushed through, and hid and white lied to keep the peace. Disturbing my own chances of peace in the process. I have shutdown, and opened up and isolated myself and forced myself to step out into the world. I have been kind to others, and learned to be kind to myself. I have helped people. And pissed people off. And cut people off who were pissed off with me for not being well. I have stood up for myself. And let myself down. And let other people treat me horrendously. I have recognised my need to please. Found the root of it, and worked on pleasing myself. I have never followed the crowed and pathed my own path and got monumentally lost along the way. Stranded without a life raft. I have stumbled and fallen and picked myself back up more times than I could ever say. I’ve experienced grotesque grief and gigantic joy and every emotional state in between. I’ve done a lot, and not very much, and been stuck and moving forward all at once.

But more importantly, I’ve survived. I’ve learned lessons I will cherish for a lifetime. I’ve lost everything that was not meant for me and created a life that deviated vastly from the norm. I gained a perspective at 15 years old that most never learn. I’ve known the value of true friendships and the temporary purpose of acquaintances. I’ve learned to like myself, my own company, and embrace my loves, loathes and limitations with open arms. I have become a master at treading water, striving for the opportunity to powerfully swim.

So here’s to 15 years. I have survived. I will continue to survive. To overcome. To thrive. You will survive this, too. You don’t have to heal fully in order to live fully.