That is what I say in my head when I find myself on the floor. Legs got wobbly, head got dizzy, knee got dislocated and bam. There I am. On the floor again.
I have fallen on average at least once a day since my 2nd year of university. 6 years, 2190 falls. I've never done that maths before, but I feel it. I feel it every time I find myself on the floor, fighting the fog in my head, trying to make sense of where I am and who I am and which way's up. Assessing the damage, replacing runaway joints. Sometimes persuading random folk not to call an ambulance or crawling out of the road.
And then I just lie there. My body feels like lead, my head like cotton wool. My brain can't think of the words and my mouth can't form them. My heart is thumping and my head hurts and everything hurts. Getting up again feels impossible.
One of two things happens next. I shout, I swear, I hit the floor. I curse my body that has betrayed me again, I curse my doctors who have left me like this, I curse the falls clinic that only sees over 65s and the physio who can't see me because the rheumatologist discharged me and the 1 year and 5 months I've been on the waiting list for a social services assessment. I curse gravity.
Or I curl up into a little ball and cry. I cry because I'm scared and it hurts and it feels bad in ways that I can't describe to someone who doesn't know what it feels like when you don't have enough blood supply to places that need it. Sometimes I lie there for hours because I keep trying to stand and keep falling straight back down again. I cry because there is no way I can clamber my way back up again only to fall. Again. I cry because these few moments of 'no more' are as close as I can get to giving up in this situation.
There is no giving up. Fall down 2190 times. Get up.