In my mind

My abuse started shortly after my father died when I was three and the onset of my disability was when I was about nine or ten years old. It is an autoimmune disease, a vasculitis which therefore affects every millimetre of my body.  It, and of course the abuse, caused me to suffer from depression and every time I complained about not being well in one form or another I was pooh-poohed and told it was all in my mind.

Fast forward many years, I now have four children and the flashbacks start to come fast and furious like looking at on old Victorian peep show flying across my eyes from one side to the other.  I am lucky I have a great G.P. and connected with an amazing counsellor who helped me through.


I have fought for a diagnosis all my life and since I got them - yes - diagnoses, my life has been spent fighting to get the medication that I know works for me.  Still fighting.


This disability can be triggered having lay dormant in my body, by trauma in childhood, and it, along with the abuse has stolen my life. 


I hate being disabled, I hate missing out on life, I used to race around like the Duracell Bunny!

No longer…no longer.

I’m learning to pace myself and failing miserably! At least I am trying, I suppose.  I must keep reiterating to myself that it is no longer just one day at a time but some days it is second by second or even nanosecond by nanosecond.

It's going to be a long, long life!