I don’t get sick often. Not because I’m in extraordinary good health but I’m careful.
In addition, I don’t go out much, for multiple reasons. For years the main reason was the depression I developed, paired with social anxiety. The lesser reason being there isn’t much to do where I live to tempt one. I have few local friends. It’s a small city, that really is more of a one-horse town. Night life is practically non-existent.
As I don’t go out much for these reasons, naturally I’m not around a lot of germs, so when I do pick up something, maybe once a year, it’s a doozy.
The past week I ran through many nights with an abnormally high fever, headache, and other more disgusting symptoms. Now I’m going through the stages of painful body aches, fatigue, and coughing up things I can’t bare to look at. Yet, I’m in a good place in my head. In fact I find I’m remarkably alert and zen.
Just the tiny bit of writing I’ve been doing has already released me from so much pain. I feel close to content. Relaxed. Care-free. Like I can see again. The best part is I know this is just a sliver of light coming in.
I’m almost afraid to get back into it, that the process of digging might take away this peace and throw me back into the misery head first.
I don’t want to tell you how he had me question my own sanity, that many times he left me thinking I was a ghost. All those lies. I don’t want to feel that right now. I’d rather bask in this glow and not ponder how long it will stay.