As it happens, I am sick. On Saturday, I woke up with the usual hallmarks of a really bad sore-throat. Pain. Enough to wake me up at some crazy-early hour, and force myself to a) Get out of bed, and b) swallow some pain-killers and c) suck on an awful tongue/mouth/life numbing lozenge.
Plans were cancelled. Lethargy, sickness and malaise were here to stay. Texts were sent, Monday shift traded off. My body is sore from non-use. My coughs as dry as I think my wit is.
The main issue about being sick is that everything for me is exacerbated by one little thing. Stress. Except, it is not little. It is a niggler and it is has faithfully been by my side for the latter part of the last decade. Stress and it’s cohort Depression, of course. “Oh, my my! I am here again! I never left you, you see?”
I don’t have plans to leave the house until tomorrow. What this means is that I have effectively kept myself apartment-bound (worse than house-bound) for close to five consecutive days now. Except for when I had to go downstairs to sign for a package. (That doesn’t really count). Self-imposed exile is one of the worse things I do to myself. In a sense, I am actually probably viral, so it is a good idea…sorry DHL lady and all the people that signed for packages after me. Also, sorry boyfriend. You get sick, kisses. Not even in like a cool way, like “Whoah, this kiss is totally siccccckkkkk boi!” Again, sorry.
I digress. Yes, the Cabin fever. It’s a doozy. I kind of intellectualise the idea of going out,of having a shower and going for a nice walk. That seems to be enough for me. There is always tomorrow. Sometimes, I wish for a friend that was exactly like me, that had the same likes and dislikes…but then I realise, we actually wouldn’t go anywhere. Twin me is also too, stuck indoors with her friends Stress and Depression. Well, shit.
I also have un-healthily obsessing about the state of my skin. I have an awful acne map of the constellation Hormones and Stress on my face. I got my period yesterday, so Lady Cramps came over and punched me in the Uterus, tis’ fun! I know this time will not last forever. I just needed to write it all out, catharsis if you will. I wonder often if I will ever get my life together. I do not write for sympathy. So…none of that thanks.
In fact, if any one were to like just ask me how I was going, I really would rather not talk about it or think about it because it just makes me feel even more anxious. I would be too anxiety-riddled trying to craft up the ideal and perfect response. I think with me, I have learned that I have these episodes for a bit and slowly, eventually, I get the courage to come out of them and be a somewhat functioning member of society again. I just need the exhaustion to wear off. I need some time. I need to probably go outside.