Six weeks ago I was at my local music festival T in the Park, a three day event which this year happened to fall on one of the country's hottest weekends. I was extremely happy. The sun was shining, the drink was flowing and I was jetting off to Ibiza the Monday after. However, lets just say an unfortunate incident involving a high speed rugby tackle and the subsequent cry of "pile up" which I was on the bottom of meant that when I was meant to be flying to the hedonistic white isle I was in surgery having my left foot operated on.
So my epic summer has turned out to be not so epic. I've put off blogging despite having an abundance of free time to write and a sleep pattern (or lack of) that lends itself to the craft. What a waste of six weeks eh? To be fair for the first two weeks I was literally wasted on prescription drugs and found the task of putting on clothes taxing enough. However, four long weeks have passed since and I think the real reason I haven't blogged is that I have found myself scared to write stuff down because once I see it in black and white I have to acknowledge how I actually feel about the aforementioned "stuff" and sometimes it is easier to avoid how we feel than confront it.
I was pretty optimistic about it at first (the drugs!?) but once the realisation set in I cried a lot. No holiday, no freedom, no adventures. "You'll just have to do something later this year or next year to make up for it" cry the gaggle of advice givers. However, what they fail to realise is I'll be 28 next year. My summer of 27 is forever gone. Don't get me wrong my summer has not been a total washout. My family and friends, while being extremely supportive, have also tried their best to keep me entertained. I have even managed a trip to the Edinburgh festival in a wheelchair and a visit to the pub complete with crutches and if I'm being honest I think the vodka diet irn bru helped me rather than hindered me! Furthermore, being the fiercely independent chappess that I am, I moved back into my own flat and complete with tea-trolley, bath chair and a lesson learned about not climbing onto stools to get stuff out of the top of the wardrobe, I am doing pretty well.
|At the Fringe. How sexy is my wheelchair?!|
The last six weeks have afforded me a lot of thinking time and a lot of the time that thinking has been hard to handle. Usually we can escape our thoughts. Some people throw themselves at their work, other people throw themselves at drink. Most of the time we find some distraction to stop our brains going into self-analytical melt down but it seems I can't run from my thoughts. A slight feeling of cabin fever has ensued coupled with a dangerous lack of routine which has often left me lying awake all night and lying in bed all day only to be shaken into action by the prospect of a visitor. It is hard to motivate oneself for just oneself. So yup, what I am saying is that I am more than a bit lonely. It's more than that though, I feel caged. I can't just get up and leave and that feeling of dependence is one that jars with my psyche. However, like the song says: "everybody needs somebody" and maybe this last six weeks has finally proved that to me. No man is an island and despite having a big group of friends and an even smaller group I can call my best friends maybe it is time I took those words on board.
I met up with an old friend when I broke up with my ex two years ago. We hadn't seen each other in six years. He said I had changed, that there was something harder about me and I hate to say it is not a phrase that has been used solely by him. Hard, tough, cold maybe I'm just scared. I'd like to think the experience as a whole is having a positive effect. I have jokingly said that I plan on going off the rails when the cast comes off and have more than once thrown the phrase YOLO about. But it's true, you only live once. Every moment, every minute is important... even the ones spent angling a hairdryer down your cast to alleviate the itching!