Struggling to breathe, I sit down at my computer to type. The world around me looks bleary, and I wonder if my head will ever clear. As exhausted as if I had just completed a marathon, but all I did was take my dog for a walk.
The exhaustion started before. Long before. There are days when it feels like it might be letting up, and I can sit at the computer rather than lying on the couch all day, but it comes back stronger the next day. It is hard even to think, I haven’t the energy to fight. And everything seems like it is ending. If I can’t think, how can I continue blogging? All of my posts will end up the same, as my brain recycles the same materials I have been focused on for three weeks. How will I overcome this? How will I live?
I haven’t even the energy to contemplate these thoughts long, though, which may be a blessing. I am tired. I am thirsty… always thirsty. I am being shocked. My side hurts. These are the thoughts that hold on. So I drown them out in episode upon episode of House. Nothing else, just House. Because when my obsession meets with the exhaustion, I haven’t the ability to consider anything else, and I am once again grateful that I have found a show with so many episodes.
It isn’t that I don’t want to do something else. My mind occasionally hits on the thought that perhaps I feel like this because I continue to live the same routine day after day, and it in itself causes the depression that I cannot overcome to leave the house. But the thoughts don’t last, for I haven’t the energy to move, and without the energy to move, how can I change?
But the weather turned mild this week (a few degrees above zero every day) and the sun came out, and thought I didn’t have the energy, I decided to take my dog for an afternoon walk. Perhaps the fresh air and sunshine will help, I though. They couldn’t hurt, anyway.
Well, it has become a routine for my dog, and he can be very insistent. That is a good thing, since I probably wouldn’t have made the second day on my own willpower. I struggle to stand. The dizziness threatens to overcome me. I spend much of the walk willing myself not to lie down on the middle of the road, and struggling for breath as if I’ve run a marathon. Not exactly encouraging symptoms.
But for a while after we have returned, when I have been able to rest, and breathe again, I can still feel the air on my face. I can still feel the sunshine on my skin. It may not feel great right now – nothing does – but it has to be helping, right?