I spent four days in the hospital this month. Four days of COPD flare ups, bowel pain that turned out to be colitis, and the constant hum of atrial fibrillation reminding me that my body has its own agenda. Hospitals are supposed to stabilize you, but for me, they do the opposite. Every time I am admitted, they screw up my insulin and my psych meds, and I end up spiraling into a bipolar storm of rage, despair, and hopelessness. I do not start recovering until I am home and can rebuild my psychiatric balance on my own terms.
I have been out for three days now, and instead of relief, it feels like the universe is running a stress test on my soul. Sam and I keep arguing. My Amazon orders are delayed or disappearing into the void. My internet is slower than a tree slug on vacation. My body hurts from sitting in a chair for the first time in a year. And layered on top of all of that is the constant, exhausting noise of the country, the kind of background chaos that seeps into your bones even when you try to tune it out.
It is too much.
It is all too much.
What I want, what I crave, is peace. Serenity. A moment where my body is not screaming, my mind is not spiraling, and the world is not demanding something from me. I want a life that feels like mine again, not something I am barely surviving.
And maybe that starts with saying it out loud.
I am tired. I am hurting. I am overwhelmed.
And I deserve a little damn peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment
All comments are moderated before being approved. Trolls and spammers are not welcome and will not be approved. STRAIGHT to the trash with you! Anonymous comments are okay, unless troll shit. Trolls, go to hell.