All I can feel is the high-pitched tinnitus, like the sound our old television used to make when turning it off, just permanently and with a tilt to the right. I spent the afternoon trying to remove mold from hard-to-reach spots in my ceiling. I’m exhausted during and after. I call it a day when I find that there’s extra mold beneath a layer of paint. Once I’ve cleaned myself and my gear, I lie down and stare into the void/infinity for over an hour. It was suggested to me that I try strength training again soon and it just makes me want to break down crying. It already takes everything I have to lug my body around a day, to wash feed brush clothe talk breathe go downstairs go upstairs carry groceries, let alone hold a brush or sit upright *and* pay attention for a client meeting.
I’m pretty certain they suggested the strength training because I mentioned to them earlier today that I bought some skincare products last night because I hate everything about my body at the moment and this is at least one thing I can do a little something about (and I enjoy it, somewhat).
I can’t look at myself in the mirror anymore. The only thing that makes me sadder is looking at photos of me from shortly before it all started coming apart at the seams, circa 3.5 years ago. It’s so accurate, all these ways I’ve changed, but gosh is it terrible. (This does to some degree also have to do with looks – my body was very different at that time when I used to exercise daily, spend a lot of time outside, and had clawed my way to a decent degree of health; I miss all of that. But what is most striking to me is seeing how all that’s happened since then is so visibly written on my body.)
I follow some online communities for sick people, sometimes folks will post before/after portraits of themselves taken before and after two, five, ten years of living with a chronic illness. It’s awful to see, my heart breaks for them. (My heart breaks for me.)