…as my father (the lapsed Catholic atheist) used to say. The mood swings are doing my head in. I’ve always had them, but now it’s gone beyond, starting usually at about 3am when it’s all fear of the future: how we’ll manage when I can’t do stairs or walk any more; how I’ll manage if Kim dies before me; how on earth I’ll get forty years of accumulated ‘stuff’ (mostly worthless crap) sorted before my demise to save my poor son from having to make sense of it all.
Then after a couple of hours sleep I might surface feeling optimistic, or giggly, or irritable, or weepy and maudlin. Or flat, or furious, or maybe even indefatigable. The last one doesn’t last long mind, fatigue wins out every time. Bastard.
This blog is not the usual MS blog. I don’t have any diet tips, or breezy advice, or exercise routines. I don’t consider myself an MS warrior and I don’t collect inspirational quotes – in fact, I can’t stand them. MS is a complete pain in the arse, there’s no way round it. I hate it. I’m not aware that it’s taught me any valuable life lessons. Apart from being a stubborn, curmudgeonly old mare, which can be useful, I’m a nightmare MSer.
So hard cheese to anyone chancing to read this expecting to find optimism and hope. Apologies, but I’m no Pollyanna.