If we were having coffee I would tell you that this past week was littered with physical and emotional shocks.
I would recount the tale of someone I believed to be an ally making an unexpected dismissive comment, which left me both speechless and deeply wounded.
Perhaps their words were meant to be sympathetic, and I have simply spent too much time around Peacocks to realise. But what they actually felt like were tiny barbed accusations; fired at me when I had barely enough energy to duck, let alone run for cover.
Those words made me feel like a fraud: like a person who is merely not trying hard enough, or perhaps, someone who wanted to spend the day doing something else, using illness as their cover. All because I don’t look sick…
So, as I was starting to feel as though the fault was my own and not that of my broken-down body, I sought solace in Mullen as a way of reminding myself that life has a meaning all of its own…
