Day 11: The road to self-destruction was well signposted I still wanted that education, I wanted to work in a library, I wanted to travel, and I wanted a family. And it all seemed so elusive. More significantly, I was starting to believe this constant narrative that was thrown at me. Who was I to dream of, having a job, travelling, or having a family? Sooner or later, my CF would progress, and instead of watching my friends die, I would be the one slowly drowning as my lungs filled with mucus. So, I pushed the boundaries with destructive behaviour. I experimented with drugs, alcohol, and even cigarettes. I went out and danced all night. I didn’t look after myself. I stopped doing my treatments. The drop in my health directly reflected how I treated my body. As a consequence, I started to have hospital admission more frequently. But I told myself that my decline was as it should be. Because getting sick was my job description. I had Cystic Fibrosis. I was a Cystic Fibrosis sufferer. Still, a little part of me wanted more. A tiny voice told me if I could change the narrative, the life I wanted could be mine.
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Written bySandi Parsons - Cystic Fibrosis Warrior. |