I have wanted to write this post for a while but have never been able to piece together my words and thoughts in a way which could convey my feelings on the subject correctly.
You see, seven months ago I met a guy. My boyfriend James. It was pretty much an instant attraction between us and everything followed on quite fast, but it was right. At the beginning I found myself panicking about my health. How would he take it? Would he be okay with my M.E? Would he expect too much from me? Could I keep up with him? A million questions reeling through my mind. But he took it fine. In fact, he now says that I over exaggerated about the whole thing because I can do things and, I suppose, he is right.
I suppose since being with James this seeded thought in my mind has grown more wild as time has passed. We have been living our lives together and experiencing wonderful things alongside one another for the past seven months. Over that time I have realised that I can do the things he does, but just in a different way or at a different pace. Like when I wanted to see the view of Hastings from the cliff top with him. Abandoning my wheelchair for a few moments, he helped me up and down the steep, uneven slopes so I could take it all in with him. Or when he helped me around Camden Market on a busy Saturday and kept insisting I sit down and rest.
