12,287 Days Alive
6,488 Ebooks to Read
I am still catastrophically low on mental resources today. I’m barely able to write a text, never mind a story.
I have physical therapy and occupational therapy tomorrow. Forgive me for not being ecstatic. I’d rather be sleeping. But I also have actually enjoyable things planned tomorrow as well. If I have the fortitude for it.
I am exhausted. In every sense.
Nightmares are relentless. When I do sleep, I don’t seems to rest well. I am always tired, always finding a new damn bruise.
I assume that this latest bought of catastrophic mental downswing is at least in part because my iron and/or specific vitamin levels have tanked.
With the cravings I’ve been having, I am assuming magnesium, iron, and calcium. Brownies, tacos, and jalapeño poppers. I’ve also noticed some bad joint inflammation, so the spice might mean it’s time to dose up on some anti inflammatory meds and some straight up capsaicin to ease the ache of every day life.
I keep reminding myself that everything cycles through, this too shall pass.
It’s so hard to keep going, though.
So I make more plans with friends.
Try to reach out.
But hell does it feel like I am literally drowning.
Every morning is a damn battle to get out of bed. Some days far worse than others. The stones of my failure seem to gather on my body as I sleep and I wake up feeling weighted down, buried in their crushing presence.
There are days where I need physical help to get out of bed.
There are days like today where I literally do not recall most of the day as I have been trudging through an endless fog of mental screaming. I know, I think I know, I did things today.
My nails are painted at least. And I wound a ball of yarn.
I cleared the floor and mopped. That I do remember. I put on a timed playlist so that when silence fell, I could not lose as much time.
But gods do I hurt. My joints scream. I still feel like the hollow, haunted chasm filled with ocean water and echoes of screams.
I just have to keep going.