Lack of exercise is opening doors for demons but I'm not sure what to do. I am still sick. My glands are hard and obvious, ragged exhaustion tops and tails my days. I am supposed to be taking it easy and so I am but its harder than I thought it would be.
I want to push myself until breathing and heartbeats become more obvious than weary thought and the endless stream of silent words. I want to travel happily on strong legs straight into the wind but I'm worried that I won't make it home again. I'm worried the low level dizziness and buzzing of virus in my veins will flare up and take me back to the ill creature that I was.
I'm not sure what to do. I've been driving to work every day. The walk to the station and then from the station to the office seems like a marathon effort I'm not capable of making. What if I make it there and all through the day but then sink to the floor unable to make the return journey. Its important to remember that there is no rescue here, just me.
When I think of how happily I laced my shoes and walked the four kilometres home from the office just a month or so ago it seems like a lie or a dream. It seemed such a short walk, just long enough to clear my mind and get me ready for evening activities. I fear I need to return to the doctor and take more expensive ill-making nasty pills. I am resentful and restless. I want to say fuck you virus of mystery and doom. Fuck you.
I want to push myself until breathing and heartbeats become more obvious than weary thought and the endless stream of silent words. I want to travel happily on strong legs straight into the wind but I'm worried that I won't make it home again. I'm worried the low level dizziness and buzzing of virus in my veins will flare up and take me back to the ill creature that I was.
I'm not sure what to do. I've been driving to work every day. The walk to the station and then from the station to the office seems like a marathon effort I'm not capable of making. What if I make it there and all through the day but then sink to the floor unable to make the return journey. Its important to remember that there is no rescue here, just me.
When I think of how happily I laced my shoes and walked the four kilometres home from the office just a month or so ago it seems like a lie or a dream. It seemed such a short walk, just long enough to clear my mind and get me ready for evening activities. I fear I need to return to the doctor and take more expensive ill-making nasty pills. I am resentful and restless. I want to say fuck you virus of mystery and doom. Fuck you.
Comments
How very well said. That pretty much entirely sums up the state of things from my end right now.