I hate this. I hate the way my body feels. I hate the coughing. I hate the diarrhea. I hate the not being able to sleep. I hate the exhaustion. I hate the nausea. I hate the runny nose. I hate the congestion. I hate feeling weak. I hate having no energy. I hate disappointing my husband. I hate scaring my child. I hate sitting here crying out of self pity while trying to eat scrambled eggs so I can have something healthy in my system. I hate how an illness can bring me so low emotionally. I want to go home. There’s nowhere to go but the adult home I’ve created. I want my mom to take care of me. But my real mom wasn’t a good mother, so I really don’t want her here. I want some mythical home and mom that doesn’t exist. I want an escape from here and now. I want someone else to make the decisions for me. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to exist. I want a reprieve. I want someone to take care of me. But I’m the mom now. I have to take care of myself. And I’m so tired. So so tired.