Courtesy of Voodoo Pad
Time marches on. Relentlessly. Preparing myself for the joys of Christmas shopping. Last minute burst of energy. The world feels unwieldy. I feel large and ungainly. And I am growing too big for the world. I am a big, clumsy rag doll. I do not think I will cope well with the ravages of old age. When my grandmother was my age she began to disintegrate. Her hair fell out, her teeth fell out, her system failed bit by bit like an old used car. And she was always so stoical. I never heard her complain. I never saw her eat although she was bordering on the obese. I am afraid that this is happening to me.. I’m falling apart, bit by bit. How can I halt my own inevitable, relentless, terminal decline. This is what I am facing and I must confess that I am paralysed by terror. I want to climb into my bed, pull the covers up over my head and never resurface.
Christmas and I am fatter than ever. I once when I was very young and immature said that I would rather take my own life than be fat.
And we were all like that at one time in our lives whether we admit it or not.
The temperature plummeted. I, rather foolishly, went walking in the rain. I didn’t notice how wet I was until I came indoors. I brace myself against the weather. Unlike everyone else, for me, winter has its charms.
My mind is offline. One thing I am terrified of is dementia. Early onset. It casts a permanent shadow over my life ever since my new consultant psychiatrist mentioned clear cognitive impairment in her assessment letter.