“It’s shameful, to be 35 and not be able to take care of yourself.”
It’s tough to look yourself in the mirror when you know you’re physically falling apart due to self-neglect. Especially when you’ve always been the sort to not depend on other people to look out for you. And then there’s the whole internal struggle between letting someone else step in to do the needful, and the toughing it out bit.
I know all this because I am one of those persons. It took me forever to learn how to alert those closest to me when I’m down, unable to crawl out of bed. Gone are the days when I hauled myself to the nearest hospital, lie there bed-ridden for days, acting all chirpy and cheery when I spoke to my folks as if I was taking a stroll in the park.
“There is nothing wrong with having to let someone else take care of you. It doesn’t mean you’re any less independent, and it doesn’t mean that you’re pitiful either.”
So while I may be worn out thin yesterday, I can at least find comfort in the fact that someone had a proper meal this week because I went the extra mile. I may have to spend the next hour cleaning my kitchen from the grease that’s stuck to every available surface, but heck – it’s all worth it, so long as my tall Utopian refugee stops shrinking any further and losses that glassy-eyed look.
Yes, I’d walk one hundred thousand miles for this Utopian cos there’s nothing more beautiful a sight than that of seeing someone’s face progressively brighten up as the hours go by.
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