What a bad day looks like:

I wake up feeling unrested and everything hurts.

I struggle to get out of bed with little desire to do so.

I eventually make my way downstairs, to take my medication, and if I forgot; I would end up being very sick.

I swallow my pills, always remembering that I need these to simply be able to exist in this world.

I lay down on the couch and flip on the television that is blurry and a dark reminder of my shitty left over from my last flare up.

I get frustrated with the blurriness and put on music and open up my latest audiobook.

I am reminded again of my inability to ‘read’ books in the literal sense of the word. I miss books, I think to myself. I miss buying books, taking out books at the library. The smell and sound of turning the pages of a book.

I try to lose myself in my audiobook. It’s never as easy to do as losing oneself in an actual book. I focus and refocus several times. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I give up.

I look up social media. To remind myself that I am a part of this world, this universe that I still belong to. Sometimes a post or a comment makes me smile and I feel good. I feel connected. Other times, on the bad days, I feel lonelier than ever. I don’t understand anyone on those days: I feel isolated and like an outsider trying to look in. I feel sad and shut off the outside world.

I have coffee and try to eat food. It’s weird..my relationship with food. Joey and I joke that it’s a complicated relationship. Good days, mean I have appetite, hunger and interest in food, in eating. Bad days, like these ones, mean an emptiness that is so overpowering that I just know, food will not be able to fill. In fact, I know that putting food into that pit of emptiness will just ring hollow. So I forgego it. I drink a meal replacement drink. I hate that. I hate drinking my meal. It feels pathetic. But I gotta keep my sugar stable. You know, so I can take more meds.

I don’t answer the phone or reach out to other people. I know there is nothing that anyone can say that will change my mood. And I feel guilty to think that my mood might infect others. On those days, I feel guilty. I apologize to Joey. I apologize that I’m always sick or sad or fucked up. He tells me he loves me. It makes me feel more guilty.

I can’t sit and have dinner with him so I go back upstairs to my room, to the bathtub, to my bed. I listen to my audiobook until it’s time to take my nightly injection. Which I do and this actually always makes me proud. I don’t use an auto injector anymore. Nope, I inject that shit straight up. And I watch. I feel better.

I try to fall asleep, and wait for the sleeping pill to kick in. I like that feeling. It makes me hazy. Not so sad or anxious, just kinda in limbo.

I struggle to fall asleep. Thinking of how I will wake up tomorrow. Will it be a better day? Will it be another bad day? I won’t know until I awake but that doesn’t stop me from thinking. When the sleeping pills take longer to kick in, I worry about the world. The kids at work. What I’ll do when my dogs die. My parents. Their health. My family. I worry about the burden on Joey. The sadness I feel is too much. I feel like Charlie in The Perks of Being a Wallflower: “There is so much pain, and I don’t know how to not notice it. It never stops.”

These are the bad days. I don’t need a good day, just a better one.

 

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3 thoughts on “What a bad day looks like:

  1. I’m glad that you are putting your thoughts on paper, but you need to get yourself out of this funk. Don’t worry about thing that you have no control over! Just remain positive and you need to reach out to people! It’s very important!! ❤💖😻

    Like

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