I feel broken.
I don’t know how else to describe it.
It’s like part of me broke the day my mom died, and I haven’t figured out how to fix it yet.
I’m lost. I’m confused. I’m scared.
For the last four days, I haven’t managed to wake up until 9am or later. I haven’t been able to drag myself out of bed before 10:30am. And usually I only manage that due to a full bladder or an empty stomach.
I feel overwhelmed by everything.
I’ve lost my focus, my drive, my ambition.
All I want to do is read and watch TV. I barely have the energy for more than that, and I know it’s psychological, not physical. I just had my Remicade infusion last week. I normally feel amazing right after my infusion. I was fine over the weekend. Dan and I even hosted a small party on Sunday. Three of my good friends came over. We played board games, drank sangria, and made pizza. It was wonderful.
And then Monday happened.
I’ve had a whole week of Mondays.
A whole week of feeling unmotivated to do anything. I barely managed to slap together a blog post yesterday, a blog post that’s more pictures than text. At least I cleaned the entire master bathroom. It practically sparkles. It only took me three days to get that much done.
I know a lot of people have told me, many times, that I can call them whenever I need them.
I believe you. All of you. I really do.
But it’s hard for me to cry with other people. It’s even harder for me to cry over the phone. I’d rather just curl up in my too-big, pink, and fuzzy robe and cry by myself.
Which is what I’m doing right now while I write this.