I don’t write about my heart a lot. It’s always my mental health that seems to impact my life a lot more, my mental health I need to vent about.
I had a bit of a enlightenment this morning though; I’ve rather a bad cough at the minute (thanks freshers) and I just suddenly realised something. When I cough or sneeze, I have to physically stop and make sure that my heart is still beating normally, still functioning. Then I got thinking…
My heart dictates my life far more than I thought. It decides how tired I am, it decides if I’m going to have a full and productive day. My heart decides if I’m going to pass out or collapse at any point, sometimes without warning. My heart means that any normal illness I get can be far more painful and significant than it otherwise would be. Two years ago, my heart nearly changed the course of my life; as unmanaged as my condition was, ordinary living was nigh impossible. My heart… controls me and I’d forgotten about it. I’d forgotten how much I have to do to accommodate it.
It’s strange. Just strange. If the stress of sixth form hadn’t advanced the deterioration, I might not have known for years. Small chance, but a chance. I might never have known. I could have had a life without as much stress, far fewer cares, and I could have been a lot more normal than I am. I wouldn’t have been suspended from university, I wouldn’t have been stigmatised by my university over something I couldn’t control, which in turn wouldn’t have had such a catastrophic effect on my mental health during my first year. So much could have been different.
But it isn’t. It’s like this, and I can somewhat manage it. But having realised it, it hurts, physically hurts. I could be so different than what I am now. I’m lying on my bed in the dark just… thinking. Acknowledging. Realising.
I was once a different person
I hate it.