"Well, I think of myself on more than
one level, I guess. Inside my head I still think of myself as the thirty year
old I used to be, bright, alert, intelligent and full of energy. That's who I
am. But then, on the outside, there's the person I've become - older, iller,
slower, less energy, but I know I'm the person on the inside really and I get
frustrated when other people view me as that sick, slow, not very bright person
they sometimes see now." Her eyes glazed over and she paused in the middle
of trying to write my answer down in her notes. ("Got my own back
now" I thought uncharitably.) "I'm not sure I know what you
mean" she said. It seemed perfectly clear to me; I live with it every day.
"Well, at university, as a mature student, when I did my degree" I
said hesitantly, not liking to mention it, "I got a first. I'm not like
that now, of course, because I get confused and I can't concentrate and I
forget things..." She still didn't understand and seemed a bit threatened
by my mention of my 'first'. "I just don't feel like I ought to be like
this" I said "and it's hard to adjust... When I compare myself with
other people my age..."
She cut me off. I had obviously transgressed.
"Oh no," she said "you mustn't compare yourself with anyone
else. We're all different." I sighed. Of course we're all different, but I
knew something was wrong. I knew who I was and how to think of myself - shy,
reserved, a bit awkward, a bit insecure, but bright, alert, quick thinking,
creative, resourceful - at least, until these last couple of years when memory
loss and depleted energy banks had dogged me, edging in on me like the ever
creeping tide, slow but relentless. Anyway, it took quite a bit of intelligence
and resourcefulness to deal with this new phase of life that had been thrust
upon me. How should I think of
myself? I'd always been bright, near the top of the class, able to achieve
without any substantial effort. Now things were different. Now I had 'learning
difficulties' and every new task that presented itself required effort. Now I
was lagging behind, not really '21st century', living in a time warp because I
couldn't keep up.
"Don't compare yourself with
anyone" she insisted. "You seem overly worried about how others see
you - you're too old for that." "Thanks" I thought "you be
me!" I looked at her, seated at the table, pen in hand, trying to assess me,
define me, label me. I looked again. She seemed sure of herself, but somewhat
challenged by the demands of her job. Her hair was spiky, dyed, modern; her
dress was short and she sat, defiantly, legs a little apart, aggressively her
own person. She appeared to have more confidence than me, more sure of her own
abilities but maybe a bit jealous of my early retirement which had actually
thrust us into financial and a host of related problems, but probably seemed
like a good idea to someone still struggling with the increasing demands of
change in a stressful and tiring job. Would I swap? Probably not. After all, as
she said, we're all different; she was herself and so was I, whichever of my
two disparate selves I turned out to be.
I had learned something. The me inside
was still the same - stubborn, clinging to its own identity and doggedly
persisting in its pursuit of the experiences and values that made life worth
the effort, irrespective of the challenges that it threw up on the way. I could
still do with some help, but maybe this wasn't the place to find it.
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