It's Official. I've got Man flu for the 3rd time in 6 weeks. Kill me now.
Experienced ManFluers will know the three main warning signs:
Firstly the tickly chest and cough. As a smoker I put it down to years of Silk Cut, but I knew something was lurking. I soldiered on over Christmas. Stoically eating everything in my path and helping others have a good time, but I knew I was a dead man walking.
Secondly, the sneezing and blocked nose. This began on Boxing Day. Again I can handle this. "It's just a cold." I kept telling myself. Like a boy whistling in the dark. I carried on exercising and doing shit. "I'm not going to let some poxy cold slow me down." became my Mantra. How foolish I was.
You cannot beat The Man Flu. He is cunning and patient and a real bastard. "Just you wait knob-head. I'll get you" He sneers.
And then, it hit me. The Third element of the holy trinity. The knockout blow. The count to ten punch. The true sign of ManFlu. The aching bones and energy zap. "NOOOOOOO!!!!!! Please don't rob me of energy. Take my nose, take my throat, take anything just not my energy or my bones!!!" That's where the true misery kicks in.
He didn't do this at home. Oh no. He waited until I was out, in the middle of a packed central London before hitting me like a train. BOOM! What a cunt.
I slowed to crawling pace. Patience has never been my strong point, but when you add in huge crowds, people in the way, sub zero temperatures and an aching flu that makes you feel like death warmed up. The happy go lucky persona is replaced by Dr Death.
"Ah aren't the Christmas lights so pretty in Regent Street." is replaced with, "Fuck sake, it's too bright and hurts my eyes. Wankers."
"I wonder if I can get a bargain in the sales" is replaced with, "What a load of shit on sale. I hate shopping.Wankers"
And finally, "I love the West End, it's such a buzz at Christmas." is replaced with, "God The West End is a shithole and I hate everyone here."
It's amazing how in the blink of an eye, the man flu can rob you of all humanity, kindness, spirit and turn you into Hitler within minutes.
The wonder of the world is replaced with a self centred, self piteous whine that only fighting the masses will satisfy. If only you had the energy.
Instead, you have to contend with battling your way home to immediately post on social media that you are ill again and spend the next few days forlornly checking for likes and sympathy attention from friends who have no sympathy at all.
You attempt humour but the veneer of hatred is too much and you give in to re-runs of Harry Potter Movies and old Only Fools and Horses on UK TV Gold. Various updates become hollow and you become sick of yourself, let alone others. Then it really is time to suffer alone, in private. That's when the true horror of man flu begins.
It's the 3rd time in 6 weeks this little fucker is back. I doubt he ever really left. Sticking to me like some kind of Genetically modified super bug. Or a distant relative over-staying their welcome at Christmas.
You all know you hate each other, but there is no getting away from the fact they are a wanker and you're stuck with them for a week or so. Try getting rid of them for a week or two and then seeing them come back. That is truly disheartening.
So, I sit here at 5.41am. I can't sleep. I have no energy to go for a walk or exercise. Smoking hurts my chest. I can't boat tons of diet coke as I need water and I have nothing in me to even contemplate energetic sexual adventure (my get out clause for fun and excitement.) - So thank you Man Flu, you've pretty much robbed me of my entire life.
What else is there?
As a recovering alcoholic I am prone to bouts of melo-drama and over sensitivity. So a third bout of ManFlu is obviously is a disaster. All I see are days of empty vacuous suicidal nothingness ahead. Like Nomania on steroids. It's grim folks. Truly dark.
In addition I like to diagnose myself too. Dr Evans only needs to Google his symptoms before settling on a rare form of Lukemia and blood cancer with chronic fatigue syndrome too. Who needs doctors when you have Google.
Of course, none of this is reality. But why let the facts get in the way of a good self indulgent wallow in misery? It is after-all, the devine right and pleasure of the addict/alcoholic to wallow in it like a messy bog. Especially at 5 in the morning. Fuck me, that's the perfect time. Insomniacs and people with mental illness will concur.
The small hours cling to you like a suffocating cloak. Enveloping you. The minutes tick by at half pace playing with your mind. Everything seems worse. If ManFlu is added to the mix, (where everything is becomes bible black), what you get is a big old pot of shit black stew. And nobody likes to eat that.
So, what's the answer? How can you ride it out?
Well, perspective helps. There's plenty of people homeless this morning waking up (if they are lucky) frozen solid. There are plenty of people displaced in the world. There are plenty of people disadvantaged. Doing Crisis showed me that. I am very fortunate.
There are people in loveless marriages, or alone and unhappy or estranged from loved ones. There are people grieving lost family members or celebrities they didn't know. There are angry knobheads shouting at people for no reason or the just plan stupid. There are people unhappy and struggling
So many worse off than me.
I am lucky.
I had a Christmas.
I received presents
The Man Flu will go. (I hope)
And I will get through this.
Perspective Nicholas. Perspective!
That's obviously the logical public thing to thing and say. But when you are on the wrong end of 3 hours kip, can't breathe, bones are aching like you've been in a car smash (and I have, so I know how it feels) and blinking is hard let alone moving, NONE of that matters.
Fuck Syria
Fuck the homeless
Fuck those less fortunate than me
Fuck everything
Fuck everyone
I don't feel well and I want some fucking sympathy. (but not too much as that will be annoying)
Fuck you ManFlu. You can bugger off now
PS - I've decided to write again in 2017. I like it and so do others apparently.
Nicholas Edward Evans
No comments:
Post a Comment