Apologies to The Boss for the butchering of his lyric, but it sums up perfectly how I feel today.
I haven't, up until now, let M.E. get me down. Having lived my whole life with a chronic illness, I figured what's one more, and have generally eschewed panic and self pity in favour of pragmatism. Keep calm, carry on; normal service will be resumed shortly, we just don't know when.
However, for some reason, today has seen something of sea change. I feel as if I should be running, should be out there dancing, laughing, living. As I enter my fourth month with this illness I'm beginning to feel somewhat like a bird who has had his wings clipped.
Which is odd. And somewhat unexpected. Even before I became ill, I was never what you'd call an adrenalin junkie, I was never one of life's big risk taker's or social animals. In fact, I'll be honest, I couldn't even really run. Having a 35% lung capacity does tend to put paid to any dreams of becoming the next Mo Farah, unsurprisingly (although I can do a mean Mo-Bot, every cloud...). But, at least I'd had the energy to just about attempt a fast walk for the bus.
Now, though? Even walking is a challenge. Sure, the mechanics all work: I can put one foot in front of the other still. But the energy required to walk anywhere, no matter how short a distance, is energy I don't really have anymore.
So it's funny that, all of a sudden, I should want to run. To sprint. To race. To just run, and run and run.
It's as if today I've only just realised how limited I've become. Maybe I hadn't noticed before? Maybe I hadn't wanted to. That old cliche of not knowing what you've got until it's gone was surely created for those living with M.E.
I never knew I had wings, until they were clipped.