20 April 2009
Today I know someone very special. I didn't meet her today, I've known her for some time, but today I realised how special she is. I won't name her because that would be violating her privacy. I may give her a name at some point, but it won't be her real name.
She's a friend of the family. But she's very special to me. Why? Because she is riding the same emotional rollercoaster that I am. For different reasons, yes, but it is a shared experience nonetheless. She is sick, receiving treatment and we all hope she will make a full recovery. But that is in the future.
At the moment she is feeling lost, lonely, isolated and fearful that she is losing her independence. All because of a bloody illness. I have not before met anyone who truly shares and understands how I feel. My family try. All of them, but only my ex-wife gets close to understanding me. This is a little awkward, given that we have been separated for some seven years, but the she has known me for more than 25 years, so I guess it's only to be expected.
Were my ex-partner and I still together, no doubt this would be a source of intense annoyance to her, perhaps jealousy, perhaps anger. But I can only say, if she reads this, that it is no reflection on her, nor is it through any intent or impropriety on my part. It's just the way it is. My ex-partner is a lovely woman, beautiful and caring. But she could never understand what I am going through - through no fault of her own, and no failure on my part to be open, but simply because the feelings are unique.
Only a person who has suddenly, and inexplicably - by a roll of the dice by some malign force perhaps, but more likely no more than misfortune - been inflicted with some grotesque condition can possibly understand. When I met my ex-partner she knew I had MS. I had only been given the confirmed diagnosis two days before we met. It was among the first things I told her. I also told her that I didn't want it to be an issue; it would always be there, and she understood that there was a better than even chance that it would become worse over time. Unfortunately, she took me at my word. I didn't realise, and nor I suspect did she, that whilst I didn't want her to treat me any differently, I needed her to.
Our relationship was probably doomed from the outset. Because of my lack of self-awareness. I guess that makes me the dumbest smart person alive. But we are where we are. Nothing I can do or say can undo what has happened. That makes me sad.
But to return to my new friend. We were talking a couple of days ago, after a very agreeable dinner at my parents' house. Five of us were sat in their lounge, letting our roast beef and yorkshire pudding settle, and we started talking. She was recounting how she felt, and nobody quite got it. They all thought they understood, and they did, to an extent. They understood the words she was speaking, but not the true, deep, emotional meaning of those words. Suddenly it dawned on me that she was speaking my language, a language that was a mystery to everyone else in the room. I tried to interpret for the others, but it was only partially successful. How do you explain a concept that someone has no knowledge of? You might just as well try to explain particle physics to a neanderthal. It meant as much, because they had no framework to put it into.
We understand so much by putting it into tidy little boxes, by comparison and analogy with experiences that others will understand. But the feelings are so deep, so alien to normal experience, whilst being superficially the same, that to explain them is impossible. How do you explain to someone the feeling of fear and isolation that comes from knowing what the future may hold, but only partially, in terms of 'might be' or 'may happen' or 'could do', and being unable to know, or to grasp, or to quite put your finger on it? When it affects your whole life, your future, your destiny, what you may do, or become. Ypur hopes and dreams and aspirations and ambitions snuffed out.
So this is where the two of us realsed that we spoke a common language. I can't define the language because only if you already speak it can you understand. But we do.
She's a friend of the family. But she's very special to me. Why? Because she is riding the same emotional rollercoaster that I am. For different reasons, yes, but it is a shared experience nonetheless. She is sick, receiving treatment and we all hope she will make a full recovery. But that is in the future.
At the moment she is feeling lost, lonely, isolated and fearful that she is losing her independence. All because of a bloody illness. I have not before met anyone who truly shares and understands how I feel. My family try. All of them, but only my ex-wife gets close to understanding me. This is a little awkward, given that we have been separated for some seven years, but the she has known me for more than 25 years, so I guess it's only to be expected.
Were my ex-partner and I still together, no doubt this would be a source of intense annoyance to her, perhaps jealousy, perhaps anger. But I can only say, if she reads this, that it is no reflection on her, nor is it through any intent or impropriety on my part. It's just the way it is. My ex-partner is a lovely woman, beautiful and caring. But she could never understand what I am going through - through no fault of her own, and no failure on my part to be open, but simply because the feelings are unique.
Only a person who has suddenly, and inexplicably - by a roll of the dice by some malign force perhaps, but more likely no more than misfortune - been inflicted with some grotesque condition can possibly understand. When I met my ex-partner she knew I had MS. I had only been given the confirmed diagnosis two days before we met. It was among the first things I told her. I also told her that I didn't want it to be an issue; it would always be there, and she understood that there was a better than even chance that it would become worse over time. Unfortunately, she took me at my word. I didn't realise, and nor I suspect did she, that whilst I didn't want her to treat me any differently, I needed her to.
Our relationship was probably doomed from the outset. Because of my lack of self-awareness. I guess that makes me the dumbest smart person alive. But we are where we are. Nothing I can do or say can undo what has happened. That makes me sad.
But to return to my new friend. We were talking a couple of days ago, after a very agreeable dinner at my parents' house. Five of us were sat in their lounge, letting our roast beef and yorkshire pudding settle, and we started talking. She was recounting how she felt, and nobody quite got it. They all thought they understood, and they did, to an extent. They understood the words she was speaking, but not the true, deep, emotional meaning of those words. Suddenly it dawned on me that she was speaking my language, a language that was a mystery to everyone else in the room. I tried to interpret for the others, but it was only partially successful. How do you explain a concept that someone has no knowledge of? You might just as well try to explain particle physics to a neanderthal. It meant as much, because they had no framework to put it into.
We understand so much by putting it into tidy little boxes, by comparison and analogy with experiences that others will understand. But the feelings are so deep, so alien to normal experience, whilst being superficially the same, that to explain them is impossible. How do you explain to someone the feeling of fear and isolation that comes from knowing what the future may hold, but only partially, in terms of 'might be' or 'may happen' or 'could do', and being unable to know, or to grasp, or to quite put your finger on it? When it affects your whole life, your future, your destiny, what you may do, or become. Ypur hopes and dreams and aspirations and ambitions snuffed out.
So this is where the two of us realsed that we spoke a common language. I can't define the language because only if you already speak it can you understand. But we do.
posted by somebody else at
17:45
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