Dear Body,

We’ve been through a lot, you and I. You’re temperamental, bitchy, and downright abusive, but I continue to treat you as well as I can, including painful surgeries to fix what you see fit to destroy, including three major shoulder surgeries in five years, and a major knee surgery when I was only 15.

I do the physiotherapy to try to get you working the way you should, but you still crack the shits, and spontaneously dislocate, partially dislocate (sublux), twist, hyperextend, and generally treat our joints in a very poor manner.

The exhaustion you inflict upon me, on top of the joints and muscle issues, is crippling. It’s not tired. Or just tired. It’s absolute exhaustion.

The migraines, and all their absolutely delightful effects.

And let’s not even talk about sleep. You never let me sleep for more than about an hour at time before waking me to roll over, or as often as not, waking me with pain.

Today is no different. I’m stuffed. I’ve had to have a lie down after a shower, and another after doing my hair. Because tonight, I’m going to have fun, whether you like it or not. I’m kind to you all of the time, and tonight will be no different, but I’m going to have some fun in spite of you.

I know, from years of experience, that you’ll make me pay for this fun. But I’m going out just the same. Because sometimes, I need to win.

I’m going to a concert, one of my favourite things. I’ll be kind to you, and won’t dance all night, not least of all because I just don’t have it in me. But I will dance. And sing. And probably cry. But tonight, just for a few hours, I’m going to win.