Sitting on my bed, logy, tired but I can’t sleep, nauseous but I can’t eat, I force myself to drink ice water. I make attempts to go out just to leave the house for a few minutes but all it does is make me appreciate my air conditioning at home. I don’t do anything worthwhile at home, I’m certainly not baking, cooking, turning on the oven or otherwise doing anything useful. I have done my laundry but it is cool in the basement and that is my incentive.
I don’t care about anything, am I depressed? Sure, a little. The other side is am I happy? Heck, no. Still, there are no strong feelings anywhere inside me, good or bad, I lack affect and interest. I can’t even blame my Fibromyalgia or my auto-immune illness (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis) on this, sure they make me tired but I don’t think they make me blue. The fact that my husband has been down, lacking energy, and very tired has not helped, I am worried about him. I’m sure we feed off each other but I know I will feel a little better if he is alright physically. Men have a hard time admitting their feelings, trust me, he is no different. I just think I am more persistent and as my children call me a “touchy- feely person.”
Books, my passion, pile up and remain unread. This is unheard of for me. I am not afraid, I am not anxious, I am not in a deep depression or a feeling high. I’m just sitting, on my bed, pecking at the computers keys, like a woodpecker on a tree or a house, repetitive, sometimes annoying, it’s just a thing they do, over and over again in the background, like me.