Through a haze of illness

You know your day isn’t going to go as planned when it starts with an exhaustion and pain induced crying jag while you’re desperately refreshing the website that is your only link to the work you intended to do. When you reflect upon the night that just passed and realize you remember far too much of it for it to have helped your body fight the virus that has made your limbs leaden and your throat burn. When your normal, cyclical clumsiness has stuck around because your body is just not responding as quickly as it normally could.

But you determinedly, doggedly, stubbornly keep refreshing the page. For an hour and a half. Because you were obviously able to string some words together while you lay drained on the couch the night before. So you can probably do the same with your work. Even though those words might require a bit more thought.

And then a brief conversation tips the balance and the self-pity and frustration and helplessness of it all comes out as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes and shudder, trying to be quiet because you hate to cry, because it makes you feel like such a girl*. But of course, in the quiet of the morning, a hitched breath is a strange sound that grabs attention. And the next worst thing to letting yourself cry happens as comforting arms wrap themselves around you and the dam bursts because if someone else is comforting you then that erodes all the mad-no-no-no-crying thoughts and there is just pain, sadness, frustration and exhaustion.

I really need to feel better soon. Pity party. :(

* – And this is a strangely misogynistic thought against myself, but I feel like it has more to do with those females who will use tears as a manipulative weapon. But there is an element of being weak and not being able to handle more and more and more without breaking.


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