I read the email as usual, the story of a nineteen year old, as I read down, I came across a section asking people to nominate people who had recovered and helped others.
At first I thought "jolly good" I don't know anyone to nominate, but then a thought struck me, this is, if you like, a club no one would choose to be part of in the great scheme of life.
Then it struck me, there is a strange perversion. Great someone has been unfortunate to have their brain malfunction, but they have concured the trauma, now we are going to give them an award.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a killjoy, I'm not against award's, it's just that I have spent nine years pretty well stuck. It's no one's fault, not even mine for once. I'm always chuffed for the person who does well.
It is just one of those moments that hits you between the eyes like a brick, a reminder, that I will never be me, a twist of fate has robbed me of me, it's robbed me of so many experiences. Of course I am still me, just a different me, a me mark ll, a me I resent, a me I don't recognise, a me I sometimes really hate.
Ok, it's just a fleeting thought in time, I'm still the same me, the, ah what the heck me, tomorrow is another day me. Even with all the chaos currently in the world with the virus, isolation, panic buying, a muppet as PM who messes a simple sentence up worse than I do, with two wing men that think we're all daft.
Yep I'm still me, mark ll me, the content me, the happy with me lot me, the at peace me, the slap me up and down me, don't be so wet me, the hard as nails me, the surviver me.
Ah, things ain't so bad!