Fuck me, I did it!
For the first time in 8 years – I finally went ‘out out.’
… And it was perfect!
Though, the anxiety and turmoil I experienced in the lead up to this night out – was most definitely – NOT perfect. I’ll tell you about that first, and then get to the fun bit.
The decision
It weighed on my mind for weeks and took until the actual day to finally decide if I would go. And even then, I found myself wavering all day over whether I should change my mind. There were just SO many things to consider with my ME/POTS (detailed here: https://chronicallycraptastic.com/me-pots-and-going-out-out/).
My relentless procrastination led me to wondering: ‘who am I doing this for?’
Introducing … my younger self. Now, younger me feels rather salty about ME/POTS removing the option of nights ‘out out’ with the girls for the last 8 years. She feels like she got sick one day, and then BAM! The next 8 years disappeared in a bit of a blur. Then, finally – her health improved enough to contemplate a night out with her friends again. “Hooray! The shots are on me!!” she cried.
Except, then she looked in the mirror and realised she’s now in her mid-forties, chronically ill, and buys Options hot chocolate in bulk because she loves it ALMOST as much as she loves going to bed at 9pm. And the only shot she’s done recently was a macaroni cheese Mug Shot. Hmmm.
Introducing … my current self. Now, my current self has a lot of sympathy for my younger self; she really did draw the short straw in life. However, time can only move forward, not backwards, and my younger self needs to accept the knackered, hot chocolate-guzzling, early night enthusiast I have become.
Or does she? After all, I’m forty-five … not eighty-five.
So, what’s a girl to do?
Did I want to go out because:
A) My current self genuinely wanted to have some late-night fun with my friends like I used to all those years ago.
Or …
B) My current self was pandering to my younger self and her lost (well, robbed) youth, and strong desire to prove a point to those bell-end chronic illnesses of mine about who’s REALLY in charge?
This was a tough question to answer, made even tougher by those bell-ends continuously making me lie down and rest, whilst my current-self chuntered on about me being way too old, poorly and knackered to put myself through a late night out in the city.
Fair to say this didn’t make the decision process any easier that day; especially when I was already lying in bed, and it would have been so easy to just stay there.
In the end, I had to concede my reasons were actually a bit of both A and B … but mostly B.
I think I just wanted to feel like I COULD go if I wanted to. I wanted to feel like it really was a simple case of, ‘Emma, do you fancy a night out in the city – yes or no?’
Clearly, it’s never going to be that simple now ME and POTS have rudely taken over my body. But still. For whatever reason … the answer was ‘yes.’
Dilemma
Next, I had another dilemma to face: should I go on the early train with the friends who could escape their family duties, or on the later train with the friends who couldn’t? If I go early, would I run out of energy before our later friends arrive and the band starts playing?
Pete gave me the weekend ‘off’, so I could rest enough before and after going out – so fortunately, I could have caught either train.
The boredom of lying around all day resting and saving my energy for the night out definitely made me want to catch the early train. However, I really wanted to see the band, have a dance, and not have to come home earlier than everyone else. SO … I decided to suck up the boredom and catch the later train.
Best. Decision. Ever.
I had theeeee bestest time!! My body was an absolute superhero (I should hope so too after all the resting I did in preparation!). I sat down when needed – thanks to the early arrivals successfully nabbing a seat for me, and guarding it with their lives (well … their arses). And I danced like a Duracell bunny the rest of the time. I haven’t felt so free from my body in 8 years. That’s a loooong time of not feeling free. Younger me was in her absolute element; if she let her hair down any further, people would have been tripping over it.
I sang loudly and badly, and danced like no one was watching. Just like I wanted to. It was AMAZING!!!! I even sacked off the idea of catching the earlier train home, in favour of taking the last train with the girls instead (which we very nearly missed – oops!). I just felt so liberated. Like all my stressors in life just evaporated for one night.
I’m so glad I went. Considering my ‘day off’ was pretty shit (does resting in bed counting down the hours until I can have fun really count as a day off?) and my hair took way longer than should ever be legal (once I’d started with the new air curler I got for Xmas, I had to persevere until I felt more Beauty and a lot less Beast). I nearly talked myself out of going so many times, BUT …
… it was all worth it in the end.
Also, in my last post I said I was worried about there being too many conversations to follow, and my brain getting too foggy and overwhelmed to follow any of them. Well … I needn’t have worried. The band was so loud that no conversations were happening anyway – just lots of singing, laughing and a fuck-tonne of dancing.
(I had also worried about the loudness getting too sensory for me – but thankfully it didn’t. Phew!)
The cost
Despite having theee most wonderful time – as is often the case with ME/POTS – this amazing night DID come at a cost.
… Of course it did. (Sigh.)
Getting the weekend ‘off’ to do what I like is pretty much unheard of normally (since parenthood is a 24/7 job and all), and I really wanted to make the most of it. Maybe browse some clothes shops, get a massage, go for a walk – whatever my heart desired really. But I couldn’t. Saturday was utter crap in the lead up to going out, largely because I simply didn’t know if ‘wasting’ the day lying in bed resting would even be worth it. (It definitely was worth it … but I had no way of knowing this at the time.)
Then Sunday – once all the night out anxiety was finally over, and an epic time was had – I wanted to wrap up this weekend ‘off’ by taking myself out for a chai latte and massive slice of cake in a cute little café where I could write or read a book … in blissful uninterrupted peace. Except, thanks to PEM (post-exertional malaise – a hallmark feature of ME), I couldn’t. I spent the whole of Sunday (and beyond) in bed, dealing with the aftermath of my recklessness.
In my youth, this used to be called a hangover. But since I only drank a sensible amount on Saturday night, it was clearly ME/POTS’s way of reminding me who’s REALLY in charge.
Still. I have zero regrets.
Head-out-of-the-car-window happiness
I’m reminded of my childhood dog, Florence. Occasionally, she would escape the gate and go nuts running all up and down the street with a big ol ‘head-out-of-the-car-window’ doggy grin on her face. Eventually, we would manage to get her home safely – and, despite knowing what a naughty girl she’d been – she would ALWAYS look SO fucking happy with herself.
… And now, after my big night ‘out out’ – I like to think I finally know how she felt. 😊
