I’ve been sick for a couple days. Nothing serious, but non-functioning nonetheless. I used to have an amazing immune system; sickness plagued me only once every couple years or so, if that. But the added stresses of my life and lingering depression weaken this body. My fever and chills made me simultaneously too hot and too cold. My headache screamed and my ears rang. Sitting up made the room spin. And every single muscle in my body — muscles I didn’t even know existed– hurt. Badly. Comfort eluded me entirely.
I HATE laying in bed all day. Being productive makes me feel alive, I was desperate to just do something, anything. But even a batch of laundry took strength I didn’t have. As did sitting up long enough to write.
But something I considered while feeling just terrible — at least I am feeling something. Though temporarily nasty, I was experiencing a piece of the vast spectrum of what it means to be human. I felt this camaraderie with the thousands of others on this planet that were probably feeling something similar, (and many who were feeling much worse). The discouragement was real. The physical pain was real. The frustration was real.