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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