I feel bleh and argh, so blargh.
I have no appetite today and ate hardly any dinner. At the moment I feel on the edge of tears, my back aches, and I can't decide what to do with myself. I will probably go fold some laundry.
I've been sad. Even when I'm going for a walk or doing errands or otherwise keeping busy and doing the good ole "fake it til ya make it" I'm sad underneath. I don't feel well, I don't feel content, and feeling that way leaves me feeling like a failure.
I feel like I've taken so much recently that I can't complain-that I've used up my tokens for complaints and sadness-but I'm still sad. Lonely and empty. I can understand some of the bad feelings but others I don't understand; why is what I have not enough? Why aren't I happy as is? It seems like I should be. This blasted disease. That must be it. It's the only thing that makes sense in the nonsense.
Ah, one bright spot was my exceptional bath bomb tonight. It was this one. It turned the tub green then a wine-ish purple, I loved it (as much as I can love at the moment) and was sad to see it drain away.
Whatever. As if this feeling wasn't upsetting or obnoxious enough, it has to feel familiar. That familiarity in infuriating and suffocating, sad quicksand for my heart.
And so I trudge.