I am not ok

I am so very not ok.

This is not going to be a fun or popular post. I have been dreading writing it for weeks, hoping that waiting might make it go away. The truth is, I was beginning to feel some measure of hope again, gradually building towards a slow but meaningful and connected life, and then something changed.

I don’t know what was the trigger. Moving house perhaps. The virus that we all had at the beginning of October. The ongoing ear infection. Maybe it was the vaccine boosting my Long Covid, but whatever it was it has completely reduced me to zero again, both in my body and in my head.

I go to bed in pain every day. I wake up in pain. I can’t manage the basics of caring for myself. Showering is hard work, and I spend most of my day in bed. I am lonely and I am absolutely utterly fucking gutted, and once again I feel like I am missing out on new opportunities. I can’t pretend that after two and a half years that being pushed back to the starting line is manageable. It is not. I cry every day. I click like on your posts and I sob and sob because I can’t do that. I can’t do that thing that you do, that I long to do. I can’t even manage fantasising any more without remembering that pain makes it all impossible.

I shared this picture this week for Sinful Sunday. The truth behind the picture is that this is very real. I am not pretending for the camera. Just taking this shot meant that I spent the rest of the day with ice packs on my legs and the scream is there constantly in the background.

I don’t know how to keep going. It is one hundred percent brutal, one hundred percent of the time, and I am beside myself with grief.

I think I prefer the shot in black and white. It is the stark reality that I am faced with every day. A life half here, half lived, just marking time until I’m gone.

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