"Fragile"

frag·ile

   [fraj-uhl; Brit. fraj-ahyl]  Show IPA

–adjective

1.

easily broken, shattered, or damaged; delicate; brittle; frail:a fragile ceramic container; a very fragile alliance.

2.

vulnerably delicate, as in appearance: She has a fragilebeauty.

3.

lacking in substance or force; flimsy: a fragile excuse.

Why does our life- my life in this case- and trust in recovery from M.E has to be so fragile...

I so much like to think- believe and trust that I can recover from this blasted illness. Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through this cycle. Why can't I just accept that this is what has happened to my body and let it be...
Because I so much like to be able to really jog trough the forest or pick up my badminton racket and really play a game- and win it!


Today that trust has shattered- again.
My healing thoughts suffer from fragility- they shatter too easily.

I woke up exhausted, pain in my whole body. The pain that I got to know as a tiredness pain. This type is not fixable. Perhaps with rest. But rest is tough when your mind is in that fragile state. I want to be well. I don't want to dwell on the not well option.


Yesterday as part of my recovery plan, I decided I would walk to town. For the healthy ones among you, it would be a walk that takes less that 10 minutes.
I had given myself the whole afternoon to achieve this goal, and was going to reward myself with an ice cream in town.
An achievable plan.
But.
I had earlier that day hoovered my small house.
The combination in the one day was obviously not a good idea...

By why?
Why does it have to be this way.
I felt good before I left for town.
I stopped at every wall and bench to take a rest. I was in no hurry.
I enjoyed the silence of the slightly moving trees. Their gorgeous lush green budding leaves filled me with such joy. I was soooo happy being a 'tourist' in my own town.
I met lovely people along the way. While seated on the wall opposite the post office, John asked where my 'buggy' was (mobility scooter). "At home" I said. "I decided to walk." He offered me a lift home but I had not reached my destination yet- the post office.

I loved sitting there, in the sun, later in the shade and observe the people going about their business. I chuckled when I saw two men painting the bottom part of a lamp post. "How many men does it take to paint a lamp post...?"
I watched children passing by and on their return all had an inviting ice cream cone in their hands. It was summer. I was out. I was happy!

After another rest I made my way to get my reward: Ice cream!
Had a lovely talk with the waitress in O'Brien's who told me that she had spend 3 months in Thailand, and spend most of this time in beach huts. It sounded wonderful and I was glad to meet another soul who is happy with her own company.
We talked about my writing- she hadn't known I was a writer, but did remember I don't like butter on my bread!
Was asked for a copy of my book by another visitor to O'Brien's

Walking home I again rested at every bench. One man, whom I had met a few times on today's journey, commented how it looked like I didn't ever wanted to go home again.

I sold a book to a passer by whom had read the article in the Examiner . Walking into my street, I marveled at how fortunate I am to be living where I live. The view is gorgeous.
I came home happy although a little tired. But- rested contentedly on the couch and found entertainment from the tv.

So why oh why can I not feel good today.
I feel fragile to the point of tears.
I lost, temporarily, the believe I will ever recover.

I hope to find strength again soon, in the meantime Ill read my own book Flying on Little Wings and ...