Monday, 2 December 2013

Air Raid Warden

The air raid warning has just gone off: “Yooooooooooooooooou have Paaaaarkinson’s, Yooooooooooooooooou have Paaaaarkinson’s, Yooooooooooooooooou have Paaaaarkinson’s…!”

I quickly grab my tin air raid warden hat and rush outside. It is dark and I can hear the rumble of planes overhead. I hurry up the street, “Cover up your windows with your black out curtains! Happiness, cover that window! Expectation and confidence, you do the same! Do you want to be bombed?”

Suddenly flares of anger light up the sky to reveal the targets below, followed by a swish sound as the bombs are dropped from the Parkinson’s planes. I stop. Silence. Then, a series of huge explosions; expectations of my future is hit first, sending a great fireball into the air. Next is the depression fuel depot, normally well protected, sending depression and grieving petrol everywhere. Then memories are hit, which produces choking, regretful smoke that billows into the street.

An explosion knocks me to the ground. My ears are ringing but I scramble to my feet. “Shelter! Find shelter,” I scream. Emotions rush out of their houses and pass me on the way to the main shelter. I remain behind checking all the houses I can. With bombs falling and fires starting everywhere I eventually make it to the shelter. When I scramble inside, all of my emotions turn to me with scared, pleading eyes. “It’s ok everyone. Just keep calm and the fires will go out.” I smile a convincing smile that isn’t all that convincing.

I move to the kitchen and help the ideas of thrownness, acceptance and self-belief hand out cups of soothing tea to my emotions. As I go round with the tea I ask, “Would you like some biscuits? Take two!” My emotions are calming down.

I finally sit down and take off my tin hat. I wipe the sweat and grime from my forehead. I look around the shelter and see my emotions huddled together, reacting to every bomb that drops. This is what being diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease feels like…

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