Ever since I was a kid, attics have always been interesting places to me. I loved the annual ascent to get Christmas decorations from the attic, which inevitably led to a good rummage through old photo albums and toys.
I love the notion that time stands still in an attic. There are remnants of long-forgotten hobbies, photographs of the person you once were and a treasure trove of childhood toys. The musty memories are frozen in time like a broken watch. This concept takes on even greater meaning following an MS diagnosis.
I recently had to rummage in the attic to find luggage for a trip. The Michael O’Leary-approved Ryanair-compliant bag that fits perfectly under the seat in front seemed to be hiding behind everything my family has ever owned. Following a deep excavation into the crawl space, I located my luggage. Along the way, I stumbled across a time capsule of memorabilia from my formative years. A stack of diaries covered in a layer of dust memorialised a pre-MS version of me that no longer exists. School year book pictures preserved a person who had no idea about MS, along with some questionable hairstyles of the early noughties. Artefacts of forgotten hobbies reminded me of the things that MS has taken from me. The attic acts like a stationary time machine, a window into a past life free of any MS-related worries. It’s like a mirror that reflects a younger, carefree version of you who isn’t preoccupied by myelin, MRIs or medication.
Diagnosis
When I was first diagnosed with MS I had only recently turned 23 years old. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was fully immersed in my party-girl era when the myelin thief came knocking on my door. I became so unwell after my diagnosis between the side effects of the interferon drugs that were popular at that time and the physical symptoms of having MS.
My mental health deteriorated along with my confidence and my zest for life. For a long time after this dark period I struggled to look at old pictures of myself. When I did look at old photos, I didn’t recognise the person staring back at me. I used to make a mental note of how far away from diagnosis I was in that particular picture. I’d see a picture of myself just before my 23rd birthday and think T minus one month until self-destruction. Houston we have a problem!
The recent climb up to the time capsule in the loft allowed me to unearth the literal and metaphorical luggage in my life. Looking at old school book pictures, I was reminded of who I was before MS entered my life. I was reminded of the passions and interests I had when I was younger and carefree. Sure who needs a Pulitzer when I was voted Hartstown Community School’s Best Writer of 2008, thank you very much!
There was once a time when a stack of memorabilia from my early years would have brought me great sadness as I yearned for the person I once was. Instead of labelling my MS a thief, I can now see it as a teacher, a provider of opportunities and a method of making new friends in the MS community. It’s a membership to a club that nobody would voluntarily join but it has some of the best members you could ever meet.
A wise man once said: “You don’t get what you want out of life; you get who you are out of life.”
The box of memories in the attic reminded me of who I once was and who I thought I was inevitably going to become. The artefacts in the attic represent who I wanted to become, but the reflection today represents all that I am not in spite of my MS but because of it.
Like a road block, MS halted that journey at a pivotal age in my young life. However, I can now see it as a detour rather than a dead end. Sometimes you have to look in the rear view mirror in order to forge a new path ahead.
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