FlickyTailSunrise

There is a loneliness to this existence in illness. Waking up, assessing just how sick I feel:

What kind of sick?

Is this something that’ll erase my day?

What does my perspective feel like?

Is it positive?

Is it affectable?

Solitary questions that only I can answer, but more often than not in these four days, return a negative.

The extent of an activity when in this state can sometimes amount to simply sitting waiting; waiting for it all to end ultimately; or for the wave to pass. Staring hopefully out the window hoping for sun, for birds, for a change that’ll make that wait worthwhile. That can be a whole day. The edges of depression tinker manically around the edge of me, their black eyes glinting in the puddle of hopeless self pity.

There is profound sadness.

This is not a cry for reassurance, this is a description of a reality that will become an anticipated event. Four days in the pit as a biweekly trip feels a whole lot different than when something simply doesn’t go right.

There is also frustration in the willful misunderstanding by myself that more grit is needed, as if grit is not already being swallowed in huge quantities…

This is the loneliness of my existence right now. The quiet emptiness, in the just me Ness of it all, where, quite simply, I just wish it wasn’t all happening.

9 more Rounds to go.

2 more til we know if it’s worth the Pit.

With love 🧡