All my life I have felt like I am swimming.
Most of the time I am swimming painstakingly slow. ( I am a terrible swimmer) I struggle along, trying different strokes to help ease my journey along.
Often my destination feels so far away. For all the effort I put in, a current pulls me off in a direction I don't want to go.
Sometimes I get tired and my ribs start to hurt, my lungs start to ache and every time I strike out it feels as if my arm is hitting hard cement.
As my arms start to bruise and turn purple from the effort I inevitably panic.
Suddenly I stop moving forward.
I start thrashing about, flailing and throwing masses of water into the air as I gasp and scream and swallow water and resurface, over and over again, in a desperate attempt to save myself.
Later, after the initial denial. I accept I am drowning.
I come to a point where I know that it's too difficult to swim anymore and allow my body to still. I empty my mind. I let the water envelope me and I allow myself to slowly sink into the calm blue waters beneath me.
It is usually at this point - when I finally will my life into the hands of God, that I have an epiphany and I suddenly remember how to float.
I adjust my weight and spread my arms and legs open, my body begins to rise and I bob to the surface.
I breathe deeply and keep my eyes tightly closed because the light is so bright.
At first, I float- with my ears lulling in and out of the water. Hearing gulls and wind and water and bubbles swilling around.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, I regain my energy. I open my eyes. Turn from my back to my stomach and noticing how much closer the island is now than it was.
I find the will to swim on.
Last Sunday I was thrashing about. My thin arms trying ever so hard to keep me afloat, my lungs screaming for air, my legs kicking with all their might.
I woke up with a terrible headache.
And a terribly ominous grey cloud hovering over me.
It followed me out of the bedroom into the bathroom where it suddenly started to rain. Heavy. All over my parade.
I went back to bed. I needed to be alone.
Because what's a girl to do, except accept that it's not her day.
I tried sleeping it off, but it didn't work.
Later, when the headache had subsided, I got up again. Got into the shower and tried to start over.
The hot water, the hot water which has the amazing power to wash away all feelings of doom was gone.
In its place were ice cold, heavy, grumpy inducing droplets of pain.
Each droplet of freezing water pummelled my neck and back like icicle knives as I stood there glowering.
I got out.
There were no towels. I had inconveniently forgotten to hang the washing out the day before. And as it happened, the day before was towel day.
I stood, freezing, naked and dripping wet on the tiles in our bathroom.
I had a temper tantrum. One where I might've stomped my foot defiantly like a three year old and screeched rudely out the door at a passing Husband to dry me a towel. ( I'm not proud of this )
Then I clambered into the bath. Put the plug in, huddled underneath the tap and cried.
10 minutes later, while still shivering and wailing, I heard a shuffle behind me.
Inside the door - a note.
" I lub you "
I finally accepted I was loosing the battle against my emotions and suddenly felt better.
I turned the tap on, it would be nice to say scalding hot water rushed from the tap and washed all the cold and pain away, but it didn't. It was barely warm.
But I was rejuvenated enough to come up with a plan, which involved boiling the kettle, and I finally lay back to float in a toasty bath thanks to Hunna.
Only to be interrupted by Boy wanting to get in too.
And I didn't mind, not one bit.