It’s hard to put into words the incessant gnawing and bewilderment. I feel like I’m being slowly digested from the inside and I can’t figure out what it is. Why do I feel like I have a rock in my skull? No, I don’t have a headache. Maybe I’m starting to feel unwell. Is a fever on the horizon? Absolutely not. I anticipate carrying it with me for some time. Should I be scared? I’m making an effort to accept its reality. The simple act of comprehending it, I am told, is the panacea.
There is a heavy, lingering sense of doom wherever you look. It’s as if the world around you had gone completely gray and dark. No other hue exists. No other shade is required. Why do I always feel like crying? There doesn’t seem to be any cause for tears. This is exactly how I feel, however. It’s important to let the tears flow. The tiredness hits you like a ton of bricks. All of my strength is ebbing away. My body is drooping and I have to sleep right now. Now that I have no desire to go out into the world, I sleep though there is no tomorrow. For some reason, sleeping in my own bed has become a lifesaver.
Where have all of my interests and passions gone? Disinterest in life in general is setting in. Everything that’s occurring around me is like a movie that’s being played from afar.
My life has been dominated by exhaustion. What words can you use to describe this? My hunger levels have shifted significantly. The way people eat now is different. I recently began withdrawing inside myself.
A part of me has died. This dreadful sensation just won’t go away. I can hardly catch my breath. My chest feels heavy and I find it difficult to breathe. Both in myself and in the people around me, I am dissatisfied. Why do most people let me down? It’s as if I’ve turned into a pane of glass that shatter with the least pressure. Midday has arrived. For some reason, I’m not hungry. I make myself eat so no one will bother me about it. I feel sick to my stomach now. I am now non-existent. Life has lost its luster for me. It’s as though the threshold between the living and the dead is taunting me. My respiratory problems haven’t gone away. In a panic, I seek around for assistance. How can I get assistance? But what should I say? Do I tell everyone that my stomach is turning, my lungs are closing up, and I’m too exhausted to move? No one can really grasp this unless they experience it for themselves. They’ll probably think I’m sick or getting a fever and tell me to lay low till I feel better. They want to take me out on dates with their pals. How can I let them know that right now, talking to other people is not something I want to do? My upper body and neck have been killing me lately. Do I have a disease?
A glass of ice water refreshes me. As it slides down my neck, I get a pleasant sensation. It’s making its way slowly but surely down my throat. I take a second glance around. Everyone is too preoccupied with their own lives to notice anything going on around them. I’m not sure how to go about getting assistance. I go to the restroom, lock myself in a cubicle, and begin to cry. When will I learn? It’s impossible for me to be any more comfortable than I already am. Why are you crying? Why am I asking this of other people? Where is that joy now if it really does originate from within? The inquiries are endless, yet the solutions are nonexistent. My ideas have overgrown my brain like a forest. I despise my own person. You bet I do.
Whatever it is that’s happened to me, it’s crippling. When I do this to myself, will I die? I had been informed once that murder is no escape. It’s true in my opinion. I’m afraid that my spirit may be caught in a vortex for eons. Nothing could be done to avoid it. I had to get out of this place. The medications do make a difference. Friends exist who are patient enough to sit and listen to me without passing judgment. What’s the best way to let them know that I can’t face seeing anybody, despite the fact that I’ve been longing for human contact? Indeed, there are competing interests here. At exactly the same time as I want the company of those who love me, I actively avoid social situations. What possible meaning might it have?
Now I’m trying to figure out what may help calm me down. It’s hard to imagine a more idyllic setting than a stroll in a forest, taking in the fresh air and calming green hues. Tea and conversation also seems like a nice idea. Good cuisine has long been seen as a healing modality. I have to abstain from booze. It would make you feel good for a little while, but the long-term effects would be discouraging. My breathing has returned to its previous state as I consider these things. I’m no longer completely ignorant to my surroundings. I am able to overhear conversations taking place nearby. The answer is yes, at least for the time being. It will return, I know, and I can’t predict how quickly. That’s why I’m so nervous. However, things are as they are. That’s what makes me unique.
I’m grateful that this has helped me become more attuned to the feelings of others around me. There is no one I will pass judgment on. In fact, I just took a few deep breaths. My burden has been lifted. For the time being, I will not stop living my life. I seem to remember someone stating that we shall trust nothing except what we can see with our own two eyes. The fact that no one can see my illness is a terrible curse. I’m taking tiny strides ahead today, enjoying each glint of good fortune as it comes my way.