I just did a thing that surely everyone must do at some point -- I stalked my exes on social media. Not because I miss them, not because anything is missing from my life, but just out of idle curiosity. A few months ago, seeing their pictures, activities and interactions with others might've caused me a pang of wisteria, perhaps even made me a little morose, but, interestingly, not tonight.

Just now, I flicked through some photo albums on which The Spaniard features on Facebook -- these have long since made private because, simply, it'd be a bit weird still having albums with couple-y pictures in. I used to look at these and feel some sort of emotion -- mostly memories of how I felt when the pictures were taken. It used to make me sad to look at these knowing that, at the time, I had feelings for him whilst he remained totally impassive. But today looking at it, it feels strange even to think that I was once with this man, and that I could possibly ever have felt anything towards him other than to loathe his utter selfishness. It feels so good knowing that I've moved on and, most of all, it feels brilliant not caring a jot any more.

It's funny how time and distance gives you such perspective. I wish I could go back to earlier this year and tell the then 'me' who was feeling so sad and lonely -- even before The Spaniard broke it off with me -- that she deserved so much more than the twat she was with and, that in a few short months time, she would find comfort and her smile again in a friend, if only she would look closer.

The funny thing is this. On the day that I got wind that The Spaniard was going to break it off with me, I was on a big group outing/celebration. I'd gotten TS's text that he wanted to 'talk', and I knew there was nothing else we needed to talk about (eventually, the whole break up process took about 2.5 weeks cos he was a spineless idiot). It had been a long time coming and, even though I knew that, I felt utterly alone, worthless and unlovable. But I didn't want to spoil the mood of the group, so, though it made my chest hurt, I contained my sadness. One person made that afternoon bearable, though he couldn't have known of my pain. Though I was a grumpy cow that day, verging on sullen, he stuck around and he made me smile and brought me comfort. That person was the Cute Nerd - the man I've been seeing for a little while. I didn't know it then, but we would go on to become firm friends, then flirt outrageously, dancing around the fact that we both wanted each other, culminating in a kiss on the platform of Piccadilly Circus Station.

So there you go. Life has a funny way of changing direction just when you're tired of the journey. It's by no means over yet, but it's certainly gotten interesting.

I've been seeing someone for a while. I've sort of been keeping it secret because I'm afraid of jinxing it -- like I did with the South African when I waxed lyrical about him on this here blog and then soon after, got dumped.

It's bloody scary, this relationship stuff. It's alright at first when you're just 'seeing' each other, when it's just riotous flirting and a date here and there. But then, inevitably, feelings start creeping in and tangling things up. On the one hand, that's great, you know? It means that it's going well. But on the other hand, it's terrifying.

I feel so vulnerable. I think that's partly because the last few relationships have really knocked the wind out of my sails and left my self-esteem in tatters. It's also partly because, once more, my feelings - my ego, if nothing else - are liable to be very bruised if it all goes tits up.

I really like this one -- let's call him the Cute Nerd. But, because of the last relationship with the Spaniard and how that ended, every time it goes a little bit quiet or if I don't hear from him, I panic a little. It's completely irrational, I know, and it makes me feel a little crazy. With the Spaniard, not hearing from him was a barometer as to how he was feeling towards me. I know I can't use that to define this 'relationship' -- I don't even know if that's what we're calling it yet -- and so I'm just messing with my own head. I might feel better if I could tell him any of this, but I don't feel like we've gotten to that stage yet. He might see my insecurities and paranoia and want to run screaming. He might not, but I'm not ready to risk that yet.

As much as I don't want to risk getting hurt again, I know that it's not in my nature to be alone. Relationships, loving someone, is what I do best, and I'd like to see if this 'thing' could go that way, with time. I think I may have mentioned before that the thing that scares me most is ending up alone. And this time I know I must make sure that, if I stay in this relationship, it's for the right reasons, not just because I don't want to  be on my own. Luckily, right now, I'm having fun and the smile is being kept on my face. So time will tell, I guess. But that still doesn't make it any less frightening.

I don't blog anymore, but sometimes I miss it. At first it was an outlet for boredom, then for things that were getting me down. Mostly, it gave me a place to talk and think freely so that I could better reflect on difficult or confusing situations. It allowed me to voice my frustrations and exorcise demons, without fear of being judged or reprimanded. I found amazing friendship and support amongst the blogging community, and I met some of my best friends I have today through blogging. Sometimes I come here just to read back old entries. They're the best indication of the person I was when I wrote them and of my state of mind at the time. Some of them I look back on and cringe because hindsight is a wonderful thing to have. But I won't delete them, embarrassing though they may be, because they are a reminder of the person I was and there are lessons to be learnt with every situation.

Take the relationship with the Spaniard for example. I read back on those entries and think, 'What the hell?'. I can see just how vulnerable I made myself to a man who really didn't care all that much, and all because I was so desperate to be loved and to find love again. I can clearly see now that I was in a place where, having ended one relationship that I was so happy in, I was determined to find something just as special to replace it. But life doesn't work like that, and I guess I learnt that the hard way. I spent months trying to convince myself that I cared for the Spaniard, when all I was doing was trying to hammer a circle through a triangular hole. And I didn't and couldn't see that at the time. I didn't blog about it, but we even sort-of got back together for a very short while. Now I look back and I want to slap myself for being such an idiot. I'd like to hope that I've grown up a little since then and learnt a lesson or two. But then, at the time, I thought I had too. Oh, the naivety... but, as I was saying, hindsight is a brilliant thing to have. I've said this many a time, but I'll say it again: I wouldn't change anything. It's been a painful journey at times, and I've been naive and wonderfully silly, but everything I've been through and the people I've met along the way have made me who I am today. And I'm still slightly crazy and making it all up as I go along, but I think I'm finally happier in myself. Here's hoping, anyway :)

I don't understand them AT ALL.

*sigh*

I've been thinking a lot lately. How do you know you really love someone? I used to think I knew, and now I'm not so sure. I miss The Spaniard an awful lot. I haven't stopped thinking about him. I know it's only been 3 weeks since we broke up, but he's on my mind an awful lot. Did I really love him though? If I did, wouldn't I know beyond a shadow of a doubt?

We hadn't seen an awful lot of each other since the break up, but last Wednesday we had a really fun night out, and it ended on him telling me that he missed me and that I'm still on his mind. There were kisses and cuddles, from which we were both reluctant to withdraw from, and it left me awfully confused. He was very drunk, and told me that I'm the best - the best what, the best at what - your guess is as good as mine. He said he didn't want me to leave, but since there was so much alcohol involved, I knew that there would be a chance that the next day there there could be regret on his part, if he even remembered any of these events at all. I couldn't work out whether he was trying to tell me that he wanted me back or if he was just saying sorry for the way we ended up.

There was a point last week where I would have said for sure that I did love The Spaniard. When you love someone, you want to protect them, to shelter them from the things that hurt them and to soothe their pain no matter what, right? I felt that, so strongly, last week. I can't tell you the exact situation, but I just wanted to put my arms around him, hold him tight and make everything okay. Is that more than you would feel for a friend? I'm still not sure. I do know though, that I look for him online when I log on before bedtime (an old ritual of ours), and it still makes my heart skip a beat when I see his name in my inbox.

I wish I knew with some certainty what he wants from me. On my part, I still don't know what I want - I remember what the bad times were like and how awkward and lonely it felt sometimes, and that stops me from jumping back in. But I also can't deny the obvious chemistry we still have, and I can't forget the lazy comfortable evenings and weekends we spent together and the times he made me feel so special. Is it him I miss? Or it is just that I miss having someone there? I don't know. I do know though that, where before I felt that there was occasionally *something* missing from the relationship, now I feel like something is missing from my life.

Is it me, or does life never get any less confusing? I'm 27 next month -  I should be an adult, and yet so much of the time I feel like a lost child, making everything up as I go along. When does it get easier?

The last few mornings, I've woken up with a dull ache in my heart - one that felt strangely familiar, although I couldn't pinpoint what it was when it first began. And then I realised -  it was the lonely ache you feel when you love someone who no longer loves you back - the one when you know your relationship is coming to an end. After my previous relationship ended, I woke up with that ache everyday for 8 months.

When The Spaniard came into my life, although I didn't really notice it at the time, the ache that I felt slowly lifted until it disappeared altogether. I guess it was the rush from being in a new relationship that did it - all those new possibilities, the hope, the passion, the flirtation. So until a few days ago when the ache returned, I hadn't even noticed that it had gone.

But now it's back. Another relationship that didn't last. This time "you're a nice girl, but I'm not in love with you". If you look at my last post in February, it was something I'd known for a while, but had chosen to ignore, hoping that sooner or later it might happen, that those little awkward quiet moments would turn into comfortable silences. But life doesn't work like that, and I guess some things are not meant to be.

So on Friday, I was that girl on the tube with tears running down her face. But I do respect him for having the courage to be honest with me - it can't have been easy. After all, I too had identified that 'something' was missing, yet I had said nothing. The last 4/5 months have been fun and, above all, I'm grateful. Because, for a while at least, The Spaniard made me feel that there was another chance at love, and he lifted my sadness. It was good while it lasted, but ultimately we weren't right for each other, even though I wanted so much for this to be IT. Perhaps though, I've gained a good friend.

So, another frog down, I guess. I wonder how many more before I find my prince?

You know the saying that, in every relationship, there's always one partner that is more emotionally invested than the other? That person is me. It always is.

We’re at the stage of the relationship when it’s time to decide what you mean to each other – is this to be a casual thing that will eventually fizzle out, or will we come to mean more to each other? I know that people love at their own pace. I know that it can’t be rushed. But I also know that I, personally, can’t be in a relationship that will go nowhere.

There are certain tell-tale signs that a girl looks for to determine how important she is in her partner's eyes.

Try as you might, you can't make someone love you.

August 14th 2008 11am. That was the last time I was in his arms.

I barely remember that morning -- the details have since faded away, leaving only a blur of images. When I think back now, the memory is simply of a dull ache in my heart, of the knowledge that those would be the final hours I would spend with my boy before we would be parted for a year. One year. It was never meant to be any more than that before we would have our whole lives together. How wrong could we have been?

The night before he left, we lay in each other arms, knowing that every tick of the clock meant that there were fewer precious seconds to spend together. We held each other and I cried, thinking of the void that would be left in my life when he'd gone. In the early hours of that day, we stood on the balcony in London Bridge, looking over our London. He said,"You touched my heart on our first date, halfway over Waterloo Bridge, when you stopped, took my hand and said to me "Look - that there is my London". And now it's mine too. Thanks for teaching me to appreciate the simple things in life".

That resonated with my soul. It was a memory I had all but forgotten, and it melted me that something I had said or done so unwittingly could have touched him so profoundly.

I remember the last touch of his hand, the last fierce hug he gave me, the last glance back as he stepped through the departure gate. When he'd gone, I wandered down the corridor of Gatwick airport and cried. And then my phone rang - my boy, calling me from the plane. He missed me already. He said, "Be strong for me". On my journey home, I could smell his scent on my skin.

That was one year ago this very day. We remain best friends, even though we both know that this will make it harder for the one of us when the other moves on. Despite the multitude of times I've cried, hurt and felt heartbroken and alone, I don't regret a single moment of our time together. I still wish things could be different..

Currently feeling bruised (not physically) and sad. Will be back soon.. xxx

I did something quintessentially English this week - afternoon tea at the Park Lane Hotel on Picadilly. It was a birthday present last year from the very generous Diva and Nags (thank you again!).

My friend and I arrived a little early, so we took a short walk through Green park to Buckingham Palace. The sky was moody and inky-grey, although it wasn't cold - again, very British!
We were seated in the Palm Court in the centre of the hotel - a beautiful room in Art Deco style. Since the atmosphere was very composed and civilised, I didn't feel right getting my camera out, but luckily there are some very good photos on t'internet!There was a harpist playing sweet melodies, which was lovely and relaxing. We chose our tea from a large selection - difficult! I had Flowering Osmanthus, described as a "Sweet and gentle flowering green tea hand-tied around an explosive orange Osmanthus flower". It comes as a bud that opens up when the hot water is poured in. My friend chose Whole Rose Buds, which was so perfumed and delicate, it was like drinking crushed roses. Ooh, look, I've found a menu.
We were served some cute little finger sandwiches, each with a different type of bread - crab and cucumber, smoked salmon, coronation chicken, egg and cress, and beef and rocket. In my delight, I forgot to take a pic before I started, sorry!

Then came little fluffy scones - white and wholemeal - with cherry jam, orange curd, mandarin and pineapple preserve and, of course, clotted cream. They were heaven! I could eat these every day! The cherries in the jam packed a punch, as they were marinated in rum - yum! Having always been a very clumsy girl, I managed to drop a massive dollop of the blood red jam on the white white tablecloth and spent the next half hour trying to conceal the stain in order not to look like a ham-fisted idiot who shouldn't be allowed out in civilised society!

All in all, it was a fabulous day, and a very memorable experience. We went for a spot of shopping in nearby Oxford Street afterwards. It's days like this that I love London :)

I sometimes get the occasional urge to bake, and that's what I did this weekend. I had been a two-day chocolate splurge already but, finding it still unsatiated, I decided that what I needed was a reeeeeally chocolate-y chocolate cake, with reeeeally chocolate-y chocolate frosting.

I warn you, this cake is extraordinarily good and HIGHLY addictive. At no time whilst making it should you attempt to put your face in the glossy melted chocolate mixture, not least because you'll contaminate the cake (not to mention burning your face). This will be extrEMEly hard to do, so a LOT of self-restraint will be called upon.


Tip: Make sure that you're the one who makes the chocolate frosting, so that you get first dibs on the saucepan afterwards. This will be messy stuff, as you'll want to get EVERY single smidgen of sauce from the bottom of the pan. It's really THAT good. I had chocolate on my forehead -- if my tongue where that long, I'd have licked that off too. I could happily eat a bowl of this on its own. In fact, next time I think I'll just skip the lengthy cake process and make this frosting instead.

That's not to say that the cake isn't good - it's more than good. The tart sweetness of the clementine is the ultimate partner for chocolate, as it cuts through the sweet, rich chocolatey-ness perfectly. It is simply deliciousness embodied. You could just take my word for it, or you could try it for yourself. Try not to eat the whole thing in one go though...

I found this conversions page, on Smitten Kitchen, useful for making conversions, especially from US to UK measurements

Chocolate and Clementine cake -- adapted from MyRecipes

350g dark chocolate, chopped
175g unsalted butter, chopped
6 large eggs – yolks and whites separated
175g sugar 200g self-raising flour
The zest of 2 grated clementines
5 small (or 4 medium) clementines, peeled and coarsely chopped
3 tablespoons orange liqueur or orange juice
1/4 teaspoon salt (if you use salted butter, omit this)

- Preheat oven to 170°C. Grease two 8-inch/20cm cake pans and line bottom with parchment/greaseproof paper. Grease and flour parchment, and set aside.
- Stir together chocolate and butter in a saucepan over low heat until smooth, refraining from diving head first into the glossy chocolate-y mixture. Remove from heat
- Beat the egg yolks and sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer until pale and thick. Add melted chocolate mixture and beat once more. Now add flour and salt and - you got it - beat til smooth. Stir in zest, chopped clementines, and orange liqueur/juice
- Beat egg whites in a separate bowl with electric mixer til foamy. Fold egg white mixture into chocolate mixture one third at a time. Then, pour mixture into cake pans.
- Bake at 170°C for 30-40 minutes or until slightly firm to touch (cracks will form on top of cake). Cool on wire racks.
- Serve (warm if desired, or if you simply can’t wait for it to cool, like me!) with chocolate cream frosting

Chocolate frosting -- Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Ingredients 100g dark chocolate, chopped
150ml double cream
3 tablespoons icing sugar
25g unsalted butter, chopped

- Put cream and sugar in a saucepan on low heat, whisking ‘til sugar is dissolved. Before it boils, remove pan from heat and add chocolate, whisking until chocolate is melted. Add butter to frosting, whisking until smooth.
- Transfer frosting to a bowl and cool, stirring occasionally, until spreadable. You might want to refrigerate yours for 10-15 mins. I couldn’t wait til mine was cool, so mine was more of a chocolate sauce. Alternatively, put bowl in some v. cold water until thicker in consistency.
- You can spread the frosting between the cake layers or just on top of the cake. If, like me, you can’t wait, drizzle over top of cake and eat whilst warm. It's good, I promise!

There are moments when I know that I will be okay and that I'll get through the heartbreak. But there are also moments when I don't think I can live my life without him. It's so hard to say goodbye and mean it too, but that's what we did on the weekend -- one year after we first got together. I don't think it has really started to sink in yet. At first, it was a bit of a relief knowing that the cycle of breaking up and making up (cos we couldn't bear to make it final) was over. Now, I'm just numb.

We're staying friends. The friendship and support we provide each other is something that neither of us can give up. I know, I know, this will be extremely hard to do without slipping back into old habits, but I've had to give up the love of my life, and I'm not about to lose my best friend too.

The hardest thing is knowing that our relationship failed not because of a lack of love between us, but due to external factors. If those could be removed, I know that we would have our happily ever after. But, as it's unlikely that they will ever go away, this is not going to happen. Ever. It would be so much easier to get over this if we both didn't love each other so much.

What happens to all that love when you break up? I know I need to move on, but, right now, I'm afraid of letting go of the memories we made. The dreams that we had together still haunt me. No more travelling the world, raising the perfect little family or growing old together, hand in hand, kissing with wrinkled, toothless mouths.

I have to find a new direction now, a new source of happiness. I must live truly for me, and that's scary. It's hard to think that there will ever be time when I'll be truly happy again, but I have to believe that it will come and that one day, it won't hurt quite this much.

... eating Hula Hoops off my fingers. I feel 5 again -- it's brilliant!




Am going in search of KitKats so I can eat the chocolate off them before I get to the wafer.

What do you miss about being little?

It's been a long, hard week. I am still sad, but one thing that I have learned this week is how utterly brilliant my friends and family are. I really am blessed with the bestest friends anyone could ask for - you know who you are. Bloggers too - thank you for taking the time to leave messages of support. They help more than you know. Thank you all...

Perhaps I tempted fate with my last blog, perhaps I was smug cos I was so happy, but here I am, barely able to see to type, because of the tears blurring my vision. We broke up. Or rather, he broke up with me. To say I'm devastated would be an understatement. I have this ache in my heart that doesn't feel like it's ever going to go away.

It's complicated. There are issues with family (his), and with visas. He says he's being kinder this way because he can't give me a definite time on when he can return, and that I deserve more than having to wait around for him. He will return, but perhaps not this year. When he does, and if we're both still single, then we'll reassess. I'm not flying over to see him next week.

We'll remain friends. He has always been my best friend first and foremost, and I don't want to lose that. But that doesn't make me feel any better. All our dreams, all our plans, they may never happen now. I feel like I've lost my purpose. It feels like I'll never be truly happy again.

If I'd had known that the last time we said goodbye at the airport was the last time that I'd be in his arms, I would have held on tighter and not have let go. I am broken.

It's a bit strange to be here, typing away, as I haven't blogged properly in a year. I miss it lots, as it's so therapeutic. You can share as little or as much as you like and, for me, it just clears my mind of the things that linger and niggle away at me. I still kind of think of myself as a 'blogger'. Sometimes I find myself composing blog pieces in my head, and I keep keep keep meaning to post, but finding the time nowadays is a hassle.

I'm amazed to find that a year has passed already. But they do say that time flies when you're having fun. I had a brilliant year - best ever, I think. Why, you ask? So many different reasons - the easing of my CFS/ME symptoms, changing roles at work and finding for the first time that I like my job, watching my gorgeous little 'nephew' (Diva's little boy) grow up to be the cheeky little smiley thing he is today. But, most of all, the best thing about last year was falling in love.

Yes, I met a boy, and it's time I introduced you him, with pride, I might add. I apologise in advance for my overuse of superlatives, but here goes :) He is the loveliest, sweetest, kindest man, with the biggest heart of pure gold and a beautiful spirit. I did everything I could to avoid falling in love, but I did nevertheless, and with an intensity I’ve never encountered and had never thought possible. Last year was filled with more fun, more laughs, more adventure and more love than I’ve ever known. I found my soulmate.

The only downside? His home is far far away, in South Africa. Late last year, his working visa ended and he had to go home. But our story doesn't end there. He'll be back, possibly at the end of the year, for reasons to do with red tape. We talk regularly, we email and SMS daily and chat via messenger when we can. But it's not easy. If I'd had known how much I'd miss him and how lonely and lost I would feel, I probably would have gone with him.

Keeping a long-distance relationship alive and fresh is difficult and time- and effort-consuming, but when you find someone who loves you this much and whom you love just as much in return, to let it go would be like spitting in God's eye. I'm flying over there for a holiday in two weeks time, and I'm so excited that I'm hopping from foot to foot in anticipation.

Anyway, I'm not sure if anyone still reads this, but I'd just like to wish you a belated Happy New Year - it's not too late, since Chinese New Year was only on Monday 26th just gone :)

Lots of love,
Pandy xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I hate that people make assumptions... I know it's hypocritical of me because I know I do it all the time and it's a human trait, but grrrr.. it does make me mad..

This week hasn't been a good week for me - after a long reprieve, many of my old ME/CFS symptoms came back and I was forced to stay at home and rest and not move a muscle. Now don't get me wrong, I like sitting at home and doing nothing, but only when it's out of choice. When I can't move because it's too damn painful, that's a whole 'nother story. Anyway, the point is, a lot of newer friends and acquaintances don't know anything about my ME. I haven't told them because
1. I don't want to be a victim
2. It takes too damn long to explain and, afterwards, people still don't really get it (until they can see for themselves, or they just 'forget' about it, because they're not symptoms you see 24/7)
3. I'm generally a lot better nowadays and I have more energy and spend less time sick, although I still have to make sure I rest lots and don't overdo it.

Anyway, I know my body, and I know when it needs to rest, otherwise I risk facing another relapse. So when my symptoms get towards middling to heavy, I am forced to decline invitations just so that I can help my body recover. Don't get me wrong, I still do take up many of them, and I do lead a fairly active social life. But, to someone who doesn't know I have ME, they more often than not make the assumption that I'm just dull and/or quite antisocial. Neither is true.

It annoys me to know that's what people think, and to snub me for it, when I know that it's my own fault for not telling them. So why don't I tell them? I know from past experience that people still don't/won't understand. When I say I'm tired, they'll say, "so what? So am I". Whilst that's all well and good, an ME sufferer saying they're tired is a lot lot worse than a 'normal' person's tiredness. Humans are generally of the mentality that we can keep going for a little longer than after the point our bodies tell us to stop (i.e. marathon running, eating) but, with ME sufferers, the opposite is the case. My body may tell me right this minute that I'm okay and that I'll be okay for the rest of the night but, an hour later, all might be very different, and I may feel sick to the stomach with overwhelming fatigue/muscle aches/spinning head. Even friends who know about the ME still say to me "Why can't you come out tonight? You were fine yesterday/this afternoon." It annoys me because they think I'm making excuses, using the ME as a get-out clause. Well, I'm not.

So, the bottom line is that I would rather people assume that I'm dull and antisocial, than let them think I use ME as an excuse or have them feel sorry for me. I don't know which of those is worse. It doesn't feel fair, somehow. Grrr..

Whinge over. How are you? Long time no see xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tis May 1st and it has been ages since I last posted - I'm so sorry, esp. to those who worried because my last post was veering on the depressive. I didn't mean to scare anyone, and, looking back at it, it was a terrible, dark post, which I'm ashamed to have posted. I guess that the effect that's ME/CFS has on me at its lowest points.

Things have been looking much brighter since then and I'm happy to say that I haven't felt as low as that since, well, the last time I blogged. There is a boy on the scene, and he keeps my spirits up and makes me smile so much that I forget the bad bits and the pain. Laughter, and the giddy sensation of a new relationship, it seems, really is the best medicine.

There is much to tell, much to catch up on, but the reason I decided to blog today is because I read an inspiring little story. In recent months, I've forgotten the reason I like writing and blogging, but I chanced upon this article at work - in all places, in the Nature journal - and it was such an enchanting piece of writing that it made me want to write again. What I love about the story is that, although the Nature journal is very sciencey, very matter-of-fact, this story is uncharacteristic in that it is simply a very sweet, winsome little piece that takes a quantum physics theme and yet doesn't contain any science. The author writes that building your own time machine is merely putting together a set of memories which are unique to you. There's a lovable little aside at the end which states "Igor Teper [the author] teaches old atoms new tricks at temperatures near absolute zero. He also writes stories, occasionally". You can read it here.

Inspired by this story, I wanted to 'build' my own time machine. There are so many moments, many of them recent, that I have wanted to remember exactly, to somehow keep them locked up inside my mind and never forget. That's an impossible task, unless you're blessed (or cursed?) with a photographic memory, and, for me, writing things down is a way of doing that - words are immortal, after all.

I realise that if I sat here and wrote down my 'time machine' moments, I would be here forever. So I'm going to start small for now and come back and add to these moments. And seeing that it's my little sister's birthday in precisely 4 days time, what better moment to start with than the time around when she was born?

I was 6 years, 11 months and one week old, and I'd been begging my mum for a baby sister or brother for years. I didn't like being an only child and really wanted someone to play with and nurture. My mum's younger sister had come to stay and help out my mum around the house. I woke on this particular morning, 5th May 1990, to a silent and empty house - where were my parents? Feeling slightly anxious, I went and shook my auntie awake, who told me that my parents had gone to the hospital because my brother or sister was on the way. She said I'd have to be patient and I'd get to meet the baby later, then promptly went back to sleep. That morning felt like the longest EVER -- I remember not knowing how to pass the time, wondering why it took so long to get a baby out and why I couldn't be there with my mummy (little did I know). A few hours, but what, to me, seemed like an eternity, later, my dad came back and told me that I had a baby sister. I remember feeling relieved that it was a girl (boys are 'urgh' at that age :) and pleased that I'd have a sister to play with and show off.

I was already itching to get down and see my mummy and new baby sis, but I was made to eat some lunch (Daaad..!). I remember being nervous in the clinical setting of the hospital, with all it's strange smells and noises. Seeing my mum's familiar but tired face amongst all the strange ones was such a relief. I distinctly remember seeing my baby sis for the first time - curiosity and anticipation mixed with a little bit of apprehension. She had so much hair already - just like mine, thick and dark - and a little wrinkled face with dark skin and a tiny nose. I remember not wanting to touch her for fear of hurting her; she was so fragile. But looking at that delicate little thing in my mum's arms, so quiet and peaceful, I knew I'd protect her forever. Because that tiny little person was my little sis.

My baby sis turns 18 in a few days time. She's turned into a wonderful person and has achieved so much already. I'm so proud of her. I know it's still a little early, but happy 18th birthday, little one. Your big sis loves you lots..

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I'm having a really bad day. The tiredness and pain of CFS/ME is really starting to get to me. This morning, I could barely walk because my hips ache and throb with every step and it feels like someone has replaced my blood with concrete whilst I was sleeping. And energy? Just the simple act of putting clothes on made me hyperventilate with exhaustion.

I know I must keep positive, I know I must keep active so that all the progress I've made with pacing therapy these last few months don't come to nothing, so that I don't end up back at square one. I know I should count my blessings, that I don't have symptoms as bad as some people get, that I'm still able to get around without falling into a tired stupor. Somedays though, I'm so tired and this is one big uphill struggle. I just want to lay my head down and make the pain and the tiredness go away. I don't want to have to fight to be normal anymore.

At the end of last year, after refusing for more than a year to take medication for CFS, I finally got to a point where I was just too tired and too ill and knew that I couldn't keep fighting the disease with mere positivity and determination. One tiny blue pill every night was all it took for me to suddenly feel like I was back in the land of the living. If I had been religious, I would have gotten down on my hands and knees and praised the lord. I'm so glad I gave in because, you know what, it's alright to admit defeat.

With the help of that miracle tablet, I suddenly had my life back. I could go shopping without falling down half dead afterwards. I could go for long walks. I could go dancing. Of course, it wasn't all roses. I certainly still had bad days, still had to take it easy more often than not, but it wasn't half as bad as it was before. However, this month, the effect of the pills have started to wane, and, now, I feel like I did before I started taking them.

It's been the best 2/3 months I've had since I started to get ill with CFS, and just when I was starting to feel like I would finally overcome the disease, I feel like I'm back where I started. It's so spirit-breaking. There may be other medications, there may be other treatments that would help, but right now, I'm just exhausted and I don't want to keep fighting. It's just one big never-ending battle, and I've forgotten the reason why we went to war.