14 June 2009

I think too much. That's the conclusion I came to, whilst doing the washing up just now. I was mulling over why it is that I bother so much about things, and why I get my knickers in a knot about that over which I have no control.

Obviously to an extent it's a defence mechanism: should I cross the road or wait a bit longer; do I really believe that an email offer can solve my penile deficiency (and if so, do I really want to make her scream); is that one day out-of-date piece of fish safe to eat.

But I think about other things far too much, when I really can't have any influence over them. All it does is tie me up in knots. I think about why MS does this or that, why (no matter how good a condition my muscles are in) my legs get ridiculously tired ridiculously quickly. ~Things that I can't understand bother me. I know the basic physiological reasons. They've been explained to me by numerous professionals. The nerve messages take longer than they should to get from A to B, blah blah blah. Ok, so that explains why I can't run, why my balance is shot to pieces, why I trip over the slightest uneven surface. But they don't explain why I have lost the ability to push myself, why I have to just give up when fatigue hits me, why the apparently boundless untapped resource of strength in my muscles is no longer available to me.

I know that many things that I want to understand are beyond my reach, and will probably remain so, but it doesn't stop me thinking, or wanting to understand. But I have to accept that some things are what they are, and whatever I want is irrelevant.