If I Wasn’t Going To Be Here for a Long Time, I Was Going To Have a Good Time

Day 11: The road to self-destruction was well signposted

Image Credit: Melinda McKeon

Everything seemed hopeless.

I was nineteen, relatively healthy, and stuck on the Invalid Pension. Not because I needed the Invalid Pension but because, other than my few casual shifts at Coles, I’d been unable to secure any other employment.

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.

Next in the 31 Days of Cystic Fibrosis series -  Hospital Admissions in the Early 90s

A time when the nurses would join in our shenanigans.

31 Days of Cystic Fibrosis is an awareness-raising campaign to coincide with
the national Cystic Fibrosis (CF) awareness month in Australia.
​
​If you’ve just joined the journey and want to start at the beginning, you’ll find the first post here: Your Daughter Has Cystic Fibrosis