I am trying not to panic. But I am failing miserably. The reality of my situation is scary. And I really don't know what to do.

If I look back 5 years, I get to my diagnosis. Those 5 years have delighted me with a rapid descent. So looking forward 5 years is scary. How will I be? Already, I'm not walking independently. Or working. Or driving. Imagine the impact that has on my everyday/life/independence/choices/future.

"Deal with what is, not what ifs." This was the advice I gave to other people who were tying themselves up in knots. So reminding myself of this, I catalogue some of the what is......

1, Greatly reduced income.
2, Greatly reduced choices.....rock or hard place anyone?
3, Reduced friendships.
4, Pretty much a reduced level of independence....whoo hoo..look who got showered all by herself! Moi! This makes me so happy/sad all at the same time.

These are just some of my everyday realities.

Reading this, some of you no doubt will be thinking, 'But they help you, don't they?' Errrr, who is this mythical 'they'? Well, 'they' are hiding with all this 'help.'

Or some of you may be thinking, 'Why don't you just move?' Well, to move, I have to get a mortgage. To get a mortgage, I have to have a job. The good man has a job, but can only work part time, because of me, and the support I need.




I live in a house of steps, and that makes me recoil whenever I have to go out/come back. Like most people, I have to go upstairs to the loo, or to bed. This makes me shrink in on myself as I'm faced with the stairs. The stairs. My enemy. My workout, as pulling my inflexible corpse, heavenwards, makes my heart pulse as I tackle this obstacle.

Right now, despite the good, all the very good, I hate my life. Specifically, I hate being like this.

I hate being less.