Sometimes I fear I’ve become half a person, or just an illness. I feel that having the disease from ‘House’ is the most defining part if me; the conversation point, or the whinge about feeling poorly.
I’d love to have an identity like the treasured friends I watch, effortlessly being the people they want to be. My beautiful friend working on her doctorate, but is a party girl, narcotics and all at the weekend. The sister who is a full time mum and still finds time to blog, photograph and have a pretty house. The socialites, the theatre makers, the artists, the writers, the academics…
I don’t feel an ounce of jealousy, I admire them. I watch and get that feeling of happiness and pride that they are happy and living interesting and fulfilling lives. It inspires me to be, to dream and then I remember you. You rob me of the energy it takes to be.
So whilst I sit here at a birthday party, in the corner with my soda water, wondering how long it’ll be till I go home and take painkillers, I know that tomorrow I’ll be shattered. Getting dressed up and putting on my smile will mean a duvet day. Don’t get me wrong I have had a fantastic night. I enjoy getting dressed up, talking to people and and laughing, I just know it will come at a price that’s all. I look at everyone in the room and whilst I know I won’t have the cigarette and alcohol hangover you will tomorrow, I will have an energy hangover even though I’ve taken it easy.
More than anything I worry that I always appear so sensible and boring. So I have one of those funny conversations about it, shouted, over the 90’s music, to the drunken friend who looks bemused:
My soul feels happier for the two social occasions I have made it to this week. Surrounded by people that make me laugh and smile.
I just cant help but think about what they think of me. Wolfy you have made me half a person and I want to know, if given the chance, who could I have been?