 |
| Image Credit |
For as long as I can remember I've never really cared
for my birthday, and that sentiment has only become worse since I became
ill. That dreaded annual event rolled around again two days ago and
I felt so down for weeks prior to it. I’m 37 years old and I’m ill
again and I just felt so tired, old and useless. I rarely feel that
way, but something about my birthday brings out the most dispirited side of me.
I was 25 when ME/CFS hit; I had love, laughter, friendship, a career in a brilliant company and plans, lots and lots of plans. All of that went away for 10 years, so I was in my mid-thirties by the time I next resurfaced. I managed to catch up a little but then I drowned again and now it seems the closer I get to 40, the more I feel the loss of that time.
