After my last post, I had told myself that things were looking up. Maybe I was on the path to recovery. This was the hope I needed to keep fighting. This was the sign that things were getting better… or so I thought. That light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be a train hurtling towards me at full speed. Reality came crashing down on me like a huge tonne of bricks.

The last week was a stark reminder of just how quickly things can change when it comes to my body. I still need a wheelchair at work when my energy wanes, but I was finally using my walking stick again. I was getting around the office by myself and finally felt like some side effects were under control. I still expect sickness, but it wasn’t all day, everyday (I’ll take all the positives I can get at this point). So, when it came to a seemingly simple task like picking up my walking stick which had fallen to the floor, it should have been easy, right? Deep down, I knew I should have asked for help, but it seemed like such a small thing to call someone for. Earlier in the day, I had already needed support when I dropped my tablets under my desk, so I didn’t want to do it again and make a fuss. I guess I was being stubborn, determined that something so minor could be done without support. I was wrong.

Within just a few short moments, I hit the toilet floor and was unable to get back up. The pain shot through my body as I landed on my hip and felt excruciating sharp jolts through my legs. I knew I was in trouble and needed help. I called out and could hear the hurried steps on the other side of the door desperately trying to get it open. I tried so many times to get myself up from the floor, but the agony was unbearable, and my energy was lost. Waves of hopelessness hit me as I could feel my tough exterior breaking down. I couldn’t even get to the door to unlock it. I felt completely useless and was admittedly a little scared.

My incredible support network finally managed to get to me, and I just remember apologising over and over. Look at what a mess I had become again. I just wanted to pick up my damn stick. The frustration at myself and this situation became too much. I still couldn’t stand and needed multiple people to help me into the wheelchair they keep close by. Again, I couldn’t stop saying sorry.

Here she is – the sick girl again causing more drama, more problems. Crying again. Can’t even go to the toilet without needing help. Of course, no one actually thought that. Everyone was supportive, understanding, and they genuinely do care. I know no one gets angry about it, no one but me. I can’t help but think about these things, worry about the burden I put on those around me just because I’m there.

I tried to calm myself and control the tears, feeling vulnerable in a room full of people, yet again. When someone handed me a drink, I immediately dropped it, spilling it all over myself. It was another blow, another moment of humiliation. I can’t even really put into words how unbelievably embarrassed I felt – I couldn’t even hold a cup. I couldn’t stand up at all or cope with what life was throwing at me. As numbness crept in, I found myself zoning out and wanting to curl up into a ball alone. It was obvious I was in pain, and I struggled to pretend that I was fine.

I held myself together as much as possible until I went home. Of course, I was in no state to drive, so I found myself leaving my car at work and needing yet more support. I couldn’t walk upstairs; the pain in my hip and legs was unbearable and continued to drain me in every way possible. It felt like it took such a long time to get up the stairs and into bed, and I’m pretty sure I said “I can’t do it” multiple times. After feeling like I’d put my body through an actual mountain climb, I sat myself on the bed and tried to compose myself. The moment I realised I couldn’t even take off my own shoes, it all just hit me at once, it all became too much. I felt myself crumble. Every fight, every part of me that tries to stay positive had disappeared. I couldn’t cope, and I broke down. I felt hopeless, where nothing but agony and exhaustion is all I could feel.

How do I fight this? How can this be my life? In that moment, all I could think about was how much I hated everything. I hated my life; the pain, my body, the loneliness, the fighting. I hated who I was and what I had become. What kind of life is this? My mind went into complete overdrive with all these questions circling round and round. I couldn’t switch it off.

As I sat there needing help to get undressed, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would be better for everyone if they didn’t have to deal with me anymore. No one would have to deal with the burden of supporting me, and I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain. It’s honestly the hardest feelings I’ve had to face.

Now, I don’t want to worry people and have them thinking I’m ready to end my life. I don’t want that. But at the same time, this is not one of those moments I can try and look for positives. This isn’t a time where I can find something to fight for, because I just can’t. All I can do is keep going and take it one day at a time. I know I’ll get through this and I’ll start to see the positives, but I think it’s important to understand that sometimes that’s not possible, and right now, this is one of those times. I’ll be okay, and I’ll keep going. One step at a time. It’s just, each step feels like a mountain right now. A mountain I don’t really want to face.

As I now attempt to look ahead, I am grateful for the amazing people around me. Their unwavering love and support give me whatever strength I have to face these challenges that come my way. To be completely honest, without them, I would be lost and hopeless in these battles at this point. Right now, the appreciation I have for my support network will be fuelling any determination I have left to overcome whatever mountains I face next.