I've looked the exact same all my life. Seriously. We have pictures on my fridge of my school photos since I was 7, and you can barely tell them apart.
Because of that, because I've stopped getting taller, and I look the same, I sometimes forget that I'm growing at all.
That sounds strange doesn't it? I know it does. But it's true.
I talk to my friends from long ago, and I feel like I felt 2 years ago, 3, 4. Not old and wise like they are now. Aren't I a kid? Aren't I just a little thing who doesn't understand the world because she's not supposed to yet?
I try to tell myself that. That I don't know any better because I shouldn't. I was always sheltered, this is just part of that.
I lie to myself and think "aren't you mature for someone so young?" Then I have to force myself to get out the hard words "you're not a kid anymore, you know. You're grown up now."
As soon as I was able to walk I wanted freedom. I feel as if I was made to explore the world, to go on adventures. But I can't right now. The biggest adventure is making myself food without assistance.
My mom loves it, I was always here little girl, now I have to stay that way. And she is more than happy to make me food, take care of me, keep me young.
When I look down on my friends for getting their hearts broken or getting fired, or doing stuiped things, my dad solemnly says to me, as if I were still his little child- much too young to understand- that will all happen to you someday.
When? When will it happen? As I lifelessly stare at the TV, or while I sleep away 13 hours of the day?
Because I still wear my " Winnie The Pooh" boxers on wash day, and my old dress from 6th grade to sleep in, I forget that I've grown at all. I'm always surprised when I try something on and it has gotten too short or too tight. Didn't I fit into it just yesterday?
And my parents cringe at the question. My "yesterday" was the day before I got sick.
I talk to people who are sick like me, and they tell me how they get disability checks, or they do all their shopping on-line, because they can't go to malls.
"How lucky I am," I think to myself "I have my family to help me." When do I cut the cord? When do I admit to myself that one day I will have to fly out of the nest, and make my own way, for better or for worse?
When do I get the opportunity?
Most CFS suffers agree that the mental ramifications are the worst part of CFS. I've suffered through depression, and the times when I wanted to die, and just about every stage ever written about in books, but I never knew it would be like this.
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