What an incredibly shit year it has been in many respects.
The recovery from walking to running to full time work went by month by month, and each day I felt, physically at least, normal. I landed myself an easy admin job for a gas company that mainly involves looking busy and really just reading the Guardian and doing online shopping. I ride to work every day (mostly) and suddenly it's November again.
But even though externally I look exactly as I did a year before (a bit chunkier, a few re-established piercings and a fringe on its way out), I don't feel the same. I realised in February that the way I was feeling wasn't good. I wasn't elated that I was getting better. I wasn't living every day full of joy like I felt people expected me too. I was depressed.
I went to the doctors and filled out a questionnaire which led me onto the waiting list for Time to Talk. TtT is a government scheme to help people with mental health issues, and despite a long waiting list (nearly five months), I finally got to see someone to talk to. My first session left me feeling empty. My therapist felt that I was likely to be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
PTSD? I, like I'm sure many others do, relate this to the truamas of war. How could my experience of GBS create such a horrific condition? But the flashbacks, the anxiety, the fear and everything else fitted right in. Often, being alone and in transport somewhere my mind would take me back to the moment I first went into hospital, all that time ago, and it felt like I was back in that hospital bed staring up at the doctor telling me 'We're worried'. Sometimes these moments would be fleeting and the next moment I knew that I was on a train to London listening to Laura Marling and off to see my sister. Other times I would be lost in these terrible memories for what felt like hours.
I would find myself depending on people more and more. With the arrival of my boyfriend back from Canada in August I finally felt I had someone to take care of me, a character trait I never had before. When my Dad had both his ankle surgeries and when my Mum broke her hip, I was again and again confronted with visiting hospitals and I felt like I couldn't deal with these reminders.
My closest friends understand. Others don't. I feel like, at 24, this is definitely a transitionary period where you begin to discover the people you love and the people that you no longer can relate to. A while back we all went to a nightclub that we used to visit often, and everyone could laugh and ironically dance. I could enjoy myself for a bit, but then I just felt so incredibly sad I had to leave. I feel so far apart from these friends, who now have their careers and their plans to move to London. Maybe it's jealously; they are where they feel they ought to be at 24, or at least from my perspective that's how it feels. I feel like I've lost a year of my life. I'd already lost a year having knee surgery aged 19. Was this the way to look at it, lost years?
Not that their hasn't been some wonderful moments this year. Doing the 5km 'Race for Life' with my Mum and some friends was a great feeling. Tom coming home and us living together and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and going to shows and cooking and all those lovely moments. I went to Italy with friends for over two weeks, travelling from North to South whilst drinking red wine every day and eating delicious food. But even this...how can I explain pure exhaustion? It took my at least two weeks to recover from this trip. People think that the fatigue that comes with GBS or any kind of chronic fatigue syndrome is really just someone who is a bit tired. I know, because I used to think that. I never knew tiredness until this year. I can keep going and going and going and then I will just cry and cry with utter exhaustion. My hands and feet buzz, always a reminder of the past and the possible future.
I used to get excited about the future. I'm planning to go to Canada in April for a year or so. But it terrifies me. Now, I don't get as excited about the adventures I may have. I get scared. What if I get ill again? What if something happens to my family at home? What if Tom gets ill? What is next?
Is it purely getting older that makes people feel this way? The innocence of childhood gone, the teenage years a fond memory, and then fear? Before I would've, and indeed nearly, travelled to dangerous parts of the world, places I would have gone alone with little anxiety. Now? The thought of travelling alone to London makes me breathe a little faster. If Tom wasn't going to be in Canada with me, would I go?
But my therapy helps. I'm having Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and next week will be my 15th session. I get homework; mediate every day or write down how I feel or breathe this way or think about this another way. There are many things we talk about, not just the GBS.
And it must be helping. The first time this year I have finally been able to sit down and finish a book. I allow myself to think about the future as I used to. I have many, many wonderful moments with my family, my friends and my boyfriend.
But to those of you reading this who have been ill and feel...I dunno, I kind of sadness even though your better, don't be afraid to seek help. Don't feel like the world is more dangerous.
Because really? It's not any more different than last year.
