b a r e

writing is healing. ask me anything.

Tag: illness

pneumonia

I’m trying to understand why. Logically it doesn’t make sense. My brain is not panicking. But my body is. The sensation of not being able to breath, that’s the inflammation in my lungs. The nausea from the antibiotic that grips my throat is chemical. The stomach cramping (tmi diarrhea) also just a side effect. The exhaustion, that’s my body fighting this thing.

So why the panic. Why does my mind so easily wander over to old thought patterns – get me out of here, I don’t want to exist, make it stop. It’s just a combination of symptoms. All with their own flavor of discomfort. But a week of discomfort. A week of this misery. And I’m losing it. It’s wearing me down. It’s frightening my husband.

I can’t get comfortable. When I am beside myself with anxiety that is always my primary complaint. I’m so uncomfortable. Uncomfortable existing. I didn’t want to be anymore, it was all too much. I don’t want to be here now.

But this is temporary. This is an illness. This isn’t going to last forever. And yet, my body is responding as if it was. Panic. Feel like I’m barely holding on.

Help me.

Got to hold it together. Got to act as if it’s all okay. Don’t want to frighten people.

Help me get through this. Make the time pass faster. Please.

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sick and tired

Tired. So completely, utterly tired. Limbs heavy. Body sinking. Mind struggling to focus. Heavy like laying at the bottom of the ocean crushed by the weight. Heavy like 100 suffocating blankets. Heavy like pinned down by Sisyphus’ boulder.

The heaviness is centered in my chest. That’s where the virus settled down. 5 days of body wrenching coughs. 5 days of not being able to sleep because I wake up unable to breath. Today is the first day I’m not coughing all the time. But I can still feel the pressure, the obstruction in my lungs. An itch I can’t scratch. An uneven surface, abrasive breathing. This illness has really dragged my mood down. The racing heart, the pressure in my chest and around my throat, mimicked my panic attacks…and so resulted in panic attacks. The weakness in my body, the loss of appetite, the nausea, mimicked my depression. I had no energy to do anything but sit there. And sitting there, alone, in a darkened room with the curtains drawn, is a ticket to the bottom.

I forced myself to sit outside, in the light. Even if I still couldn’t do anything but sit there, at least I have fresh air. I forced myself to focus on specific tasks. Take myself out of the helpless stuckness. One moment at a time, get through this, get through to the other side of this shaky bridge.

I finally got my appetite back yesterday. What a relief. To be able to enjoy the taste of food again. To enjoy the process of eating, what a treat. You don’t realize how miserable eating can be until you’re forcing yourself. This will definitely help with my energy. Now if I could just sleep through the night. Piece by piece. I’m putting myself back together. It’s surprising how much mental pain can be brought on by physical discomfort. But I’ve made it through the worst of it. And though it’s a slow, tedious climb, I will get back to solid ground.