Congratulations
Posted on 2002-12-27
Tony and Toni, (the boyfriends flatmate & his girlfriend), got engaged on Christmas Eve, (which was also Toni's 21st birthday,) and I only found out today. Now don't get me wrong, I am pleased for them - they are very happy and I hope that things continue to be great for them, but seeing them so happy, and hearing Toni talking about her 21st reminded me of my own 21st birthday - a day I'd rather forget.
I first got really sick in October 2000. At the time I was working, and had a lovely boyfriend called Paul. We'd known each other since secondary school and had always been really good friends, but after a drunken night out about 18 months before I got sick we told each other how we really felt and ended up going out.
I think the reason we got on so well is that we already knew each other inside out before we took the plunge. His friends were my friends too, (we all knew each other at school), if we had money we went to the pub together, if we didn't we'd go and sit by the lake together and feed the ducks. It didn't matter where we were or what we were doing, if we were together we were happy. At one point we even began talking about saving money so that we could get a flat or something. I thought that I'd found 'the one'.
The first time I was taken into hospital was in November 2000. I couldn't breathe properly and my heart rate had shot up for no apparent reason and the doctors in A & E were worried that I was going to have a heart attack or something and decided to admit me for tests. I had never been so scared of anything in my life. I tried calling Paul the next day from the phone on the ward, but I couldn't get through. He wasn't there for me like he promised he would be.
After three days I was allowed to come home and I was told that the results of the tests would be sent to my G.P within 10 days. I felt so sick though that I spent much of my time in bed, and even when Paul came to visit me I didn't pick up. I was aware that he was there, but too sick to hold a proper conversation with him, or laugh and joke with him the way I used to. I hardly ever called him because holding a conversation with anyone was too hard, but he insisted that he understood and would be there for me regardless.
Three weeks after I'd first been discharged I found myself back in hospital. The original test results had come back negative, but I still couldn't breathe. I felt tired, faint, had heart palpitations, and just getting out of bed to get dressed made me feel like I'd run a marathon. There was something wrong, but no-one knew what. Once I'd had further tests done I was allowed home again.
The next time Paul came to see me I noticed that he'd begun acting weird. Its hard to explain how he'd changed, but it was the little things that I noticed. He stopped calling every day to see how I was, (Mum used to talk to him for me as I wasn't able to), he stopped holding my hand when I laid in bed unable to talk properly, he made excuses not to come round for dinner each Sunday, something that he'd done ever since I begun seeing him..... I knew something was wrong, I just didn't fully understand what.
On my 21st birthday Paul came round to give me my birthday presents. He'd got me a watch and had my initials and date of birth engraved on the back of the face, and a 21st key, but when I went to kiss him to thank him he moved away from me. That's when I realised that something was really wrong. I asked him what was up but he wouldn't tell me - he said he couldn't just yet. I forced it out of him though. He was scared that whatever I had become ill with was contagious, and he didn't want to get sick.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The person that I thought cared about me - the person that I thought would be there for me, was worried that I'd pass some disease onto him. He said that he couldn't bear to see me in so much pain and discomfort, and that he felt that I'd be better off without him. I haven't ever spoken to him again.
For a long time I felt hurt, and ashamed of being sick. I didn't like telling anyone that I was ill as I was scared that they were going to react the same way as Paul did. I didn't let anyone near me, not even my own family as I convinced myself that I did have an infectious illness, and I didn't want any of them to suffer too. Then one day I realised that being ill isn't something to be ashamed of, and if people react the way that Paul did, then they are ignorant and not worth wasting my time with.
Although I have 'gotten over' him, I don't think I'll ever get over the look on his face when I went to kiss him - the look of fear and disgust that flashed in his eyes will haunt me for years to come, and without meaning to Paul made my 21st one of the worst days of my life..... for every birthday that passes will remind me of that day, and the way he made me feel.