What a difference a day makes and how quickly optimism and hope can slip away. I’m not trying to be dramatic. I’m just not feeling well. I’m chronically ill, stressed, sleep deprived, and over every bit of it, that’s all.
The truth, the hard truth, is today isn’t so bad. I’ve had plenty of support and positivity around me, keeping me up, focused, and moving forward. I showed up when I didn’t think I could. I’ve been productive beyond all the expectations I had of myself and ended with more energy than most days. THe truth is it’s been a damn decent day despite all my personal struggles and pains.
And by now the day is long past half over and the end is so close I have no doubt I will make it the rest of the way. Perhaps tomorrow will bring another turn of mood and circumstance, and I’ll find myself returning to yesterday’s high of healing and hope once again, or perhaps not. Maybe all I can hope for is another day of feeling capable and useful, and maybe that is more than enough, for now. It has to be.
I just wish I had more to cling to, more to look forward to than work and rest. I miss writing. I miss my art. I miss reading and learning. I miss being able to make time and to focus. I miss loving myself and my life. There has to be some way of getting back to that version of me.
And I don’t think it’s all down to chronic illness. I think at least half is this sad and lonely “new normal” we’ve all been grappling with. It’s sitting at home night after night. It’s keeping my distance from everyone. It’s missing crowds, and strangers, and experiences. I’m treading water, poorly, and there is very little in sight to cling to, to swim to.
Of course I can’t find the energy for the things I love. I’ve had so little to nurture or nourish my creativity or passion. With so little input, how can I expect to create, share, or connect?