I am still on a high. I know it was a small triumph in the greater scheme of things – in fact in the greatest scheme, hardly even a blip – but considering how short a time it is since I was laid out by ME, how angry I was at what I perceived as the destruction of my life…well at least my career…it is a massive high point.
Five years ago, I could hardly make it downstairs each day. Taking a shower took all morning and meant that for the rest of the day I could barely string a sentence together coherently. I resorted to drying myself with a hand towel because a bath sized one was too heavy for me to lift. I had, I thought, played my last game of volleyball, lost my management consultant business along with my intellect, seen my last film at a cinema, shopped for my last trolley load of food in Sainsbury’s. I couldn’t concentrate for long enough to read a book or follow a twenty minute programme on Radio 4.
Initially I hadn’t enough energy even to feel anger or regret. My partner was dazed at the silent, lifeless, humourless figure I had become. My children were angry.
I had become a ramshackle shadow of myself.