The countdown

I have this residual tummy bug from Fiji. It doesn’t respond to usual over the counter remedies so the chemist suggested it was probably a virus that needed antibiotics. I’m not keen to see my gp at the moment so I’m hoping it will run its course. In the meantime it’s leaving me lethargic, and I’m trying to keep my hydration up. This sluggish and general malaise is perversely well timed for the time of year.

As I inch closer to February the sickness in my stomach could be either the bug or the persistent memories. The overwhelming tiredness and urge to do less, feel less hope, less courage is sinking in.

I feel very alone with my thoughts. My body feels alien to me. Not just because of my stomach. But I have developed this terrible eczema in between my fingers with painful broken skin – I’ve never had it before. My skin seems to react to everything these days. My menstrual cycle has shortened after years of being the same, and body memories – they are starting to resurface. Yesterday I felt a hand push on my back, push me down. I felt panic rise like a painful bubble up my throat. The panic and anxiety sit closer to the surface now. Making it harder to swallow.

I drove to a church today. I can’t tell you why. Perhaps the promise of divine intervention, the offer of peace. Some contemplation and reflection. I haven’t been for years. I sat for a while in quiet thought. I felt nothing. But then I felt annoyed that I felt nothing. And then I started to cry. Big tears rolled down my cheeks. I’m not usually one for crying. Especially in public. But I cried with ease. Wept quietly, alone in the warm church.

I didn’t get any divine intervention, not even a really cool Priest with some pearls of wisdom like in the movies to change my life forever.

I’m tired this afternoon. Tired and sore. With my manky fingers and rotten tummy!

I’m wondering how, yet again, I intend to get through these miserable few weeks.


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