Maybe I should have called this one “Short and Sharp 2.”
Yes, I’ve had another relapse, following my last one in May. I can no longer clean my own tail, and the present regime is literally to “s**t the bed!”
I’m using a lot of exclamation points here, but I feel my life is now one big one! As the kids say, or maybe it’s the kids who’ve now had kids say, “WTF!”
How much of the above survives the remits of our editor bible for Multiple Sclerosis News Today I’m not sure, but I’m too angry to care. And anger is something I’ve always used — in fact it started my media career.
I’d been working for six months with adults with severe learning difficulties. I wanted to see if I had the vocation. In fact, it was the only job interview I passed in my life. From then on, I was to create my own work. A socialist advocate for the self-help of Thatcher’s new Britain. A weird dualism!
But I was tired. Not of the job, but of the relentlessness of it all. Whatever good we were doing during the day was expunged by the nurses going right back to smacking our charges as soon as they got back on the ward. Everyone was institutionalized.
I had no capacity left to do anything — I was numb, even more numb then I am now. As my wife, Jane, pointed out last night, “Who said life was ever going to be fair?” This is a truism I’ve quoted many times myself. It was a verbal slap to my face that stopped me from whining or blubbering, or both.
Back to the last time I physically used anger. It was still sort of righteous — I was in an Indian restaurant with friends, and a smallish guy at another table was being racist to the staff. Things like this still happen today, but it is by comparison a rarity. Back then, it was de rigueur.
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