When I write more extensively than just notes about my day or health, I often delve into the depths of my spirit, my feelings, and my thoughts. This time I want to explore what’s happening in my physical body as well. However, the two are so closely intertwined that I cannot write about my body without also unravelling how it makes me feel. Lately it hasn’t been pretty – and I feel quite vulnerable. But here goes:
There’s been a shift in my physical health recently. Breathlessness grips me, leaving me utterly exhausted and stirring up a gnawing anxiety. Simple tasks like getting dressed, having a shower, or just making a cup of tea feel like climbing a mountain. Every night, as I lie in bed, my mind races with ‘what ifs’, replaying doctor’s visits, test results, and worst-case scenarios until sleep finally claims me. This constant worry about my health is wearing me down, to say the least.
My days have felt increasingly oppressive of late. Treatments have proven ineffective, with the fever lingering and antibiotics offering little relief beyond a bitter aftertaste (quite literally). Every breath is laboured and the effort intensifies my anxiety. It feels as if my lungs are lined with sandpaper, each inhale and exhale scraping and tearing at my insides. I often find myself trapped between enduring the relentless shortness of breath and pain, or succumbing to the drowsiness brought on by medications.
The weight of it all can be gruelling, and sometimes I wonder if things will ever get better. It’s tough to maintain optimism when the future feels so uncertain and bleak. Good days seem a distant memory; even the okay days have vanished. I spend too much of my time in bed staring at the ceiling, too exhausted to move, and unsure how to ignore the overwhelming load of it all anymore.
This physical struggle has taken a toll on my mental and emotional resilience. The ceaseless fatigue confines me, stripping away my independence and sapping my motivation. Even the activities I love feel distant and unattainable. This loss leaves a gaping void, a loneliness that has quietly settled in more than I’d care to admit. My social circles shrink, friends slipping away one by one as I struggle to get out and stay connected. It’s a strange and isolating experience, watching my social life fade not by choice, but because my world has become so confined. I’m not very good at reaching out or explaining why I withdraw; I just fade into the background, disappear. I haven’t yet found any good ways to navigate this loneliness.
But amidst the darkness, certain moments remind me of life’s beauty. The sky, ablaze with the rich hues of a sunset, offers a fleeting yet profound sense of peace (it’s always the sky, isn’t it?). Time spent with my nieces and nephews is another treasure; they so effortlessly include me in their world, cuddling up beside me in bed to share their latest adventures. These moments are beacons of hope. Even on the darkest days, I try to do my best to seek out small moments of joy, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? The pleasant smell of freshly brewed tea or coffee, the feel of a soft blanket on a chilly evening, the sound of my favourite songs, or the words of an exquisite book. And I suppose these slivers of light help me hold on to the hope that better days are on the horizon, even if they feel far away right now.
I’m trying to take it one day at a time.
Here’s to hoping for better days and finding strength in the small steps forward.