Doppelganger

Hair glistens, golden, swinging near her hips when she walks.  Her blue eyes soften and warm often, her whole face crinkling in delight.

She is intense, passionate and equal parts emotionally intelligent and clumsy.  But that will change as she experiments with life and heart break, with loss and delight.  Her friendships are forged quickly, loyally, but when they end they end disastrously.

Over time she will come to understand who she is.  That her self righteousness can sound preachy and her passion can be misunderstood as obnoxiousness.  Her voice will quieten, for there is no need to be loud to be heard.  There is a power in the softness and vulnerability that is innate to her.  But she has sharp edges when they’re required.

She dreams big, but she’s so scared of failure; scared of imperfection and that it may leave her unloved.  That too will pass as loves are earned and lost and she realises the strength of her heart and its worth.

He is drawn to her.  Something about her is easy, comfortable, and accessible.  And yet she shines bright, playful and witty.  She can skip easily from banter with the boys, to soulful girl chats, or heated debates.  And she always listens to him, makes him feel as though he is interesting, worthwhile.  They develop an extraordinarily pure friendship, true in every sense of the word.  And then it is love.  He is a better man with her. 

They travel and live abroad, although it drives them apart.  They are too different to be lovers.  But they part amicably.  He stays in Europe and she chases her dream to New York.  Ultimately she comes to hate the pace of the city, it will scare her and she will crave the ease of home.  Brisbane will always be her home, safe and sweetly understated.

She meets her next love through a friend, at a barbeque.  There is such an ease that everything happens quickly.  They buy a cottage and she falls pregnant.  The first is lost, but she falls again almost immediately.  The loss makes her connection with the second so intrinsically linked to her heartbeat that it quickens painfully every time she thinks of her unborn daughter. 

Arianna Dale is born with a shock of white hair and blue eyes, perfect little plump lips, a promise and constant reminder of the beauty in life.   

But in moments when her heart swells as she looks upon that tiny person, and the world quiets, she will feel a shadow stalking her.  In another life things are darker.  And if she'd made the wrong choice somewhere, the smallest little inconsequential decision, things may have been drastically different.

In this universe though, life is radiant and sweet.  And even though there are moments of heartache, everything always feels as though it is how it should be.

Choices

When you live with chronic illness you are faced with choices every day.  The most important comes in the morning.  If there was a gauge for emotion with happiness and hope at one end of the spectrum and desolation at the other, you would find that most of us wake closer to the dreary end.  But we choose through sheer willpower to push the needle through the middle ground and as close to the happiness end of the spectrum as we can manage.

One of my sisters suggested the other day that I consider CBT – Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, because I am striving for answers and treatment, rather than just accepting that there are none.  I think she fears I’m wasting time being unhappy with my life when it may never be any more than what it is now, so perhaps I should just concede defeat and be happy with what I have.

I had a few issues with that suggestion, firstly CBT has been found to be detrimental to people with CFS/M.E. often exacerbating our symptoms and causing more damage, and secondly and more importantly I don’t need it.  I’m not unhappy, I’m dissatisfied.  There is a huge difference.  When people make these offhand comments I do wonder how they would feel without their partner, kids, job, house, car, independence and income.  Would they feel satisfied and simply and easily accept this fate?

After spending a decade on forced introversion, there is no emotional stone unturned, no thought or theory unconsidered and no escape from reality.  We don’t have the luxury of denial; every moment of the day is a brutal truth.  I believe my sister simply doesn’t want me to struggle unnecessarily.  But acceptance is one thing, giving up is another.  So although I have learnt to accept this fate, I will never stop hoping that things might be different.

Instead, every day I get up and choose to hope for better days.  I watch the morning sun filter through in shafts onto my balcony making dappled light dance over chairs and imagine waking up and feeling refreshed.  I collect pretty vintage pieces for the moment I may be able to wear them somewhere other than at home.  And in my dreams I play netball in fluid agile movements that feel almost like dancing. 

I will not just resign myself to this fate forever.  CFS is an ever-changing beast and one day some of my dreams may be possible.  Why should I just give up on the idea of having a family, my own little cottage, my first new car, a decent income or a career?  I am not delusional, I am always honest with myself, so I have accepted that I may not ever be a mother, or own a house or car, or have a career, but it’s nice to imagine having those choices.

At the moment I don’t.  But what I do get to decide is whether I am happy, and you know what, mostly I am.  And when I’m not, I hope to be happy the next day.