#rotposting

Not every movement hurts, these days, and nor does every stillness. Sometimes it recedes, lurking on the edge of things. Those are the good times. They never last.

You make bargains, as best you can. Let me do this, and I will give up that. Let me move freely, even if I cannot think. Sometimes these bargains work. Often the price is higher than you hoped, and you slowly learn it is best not to invite a debt.

You've been off your meds for a while now, dreading how easy it would be to get back on. A phone call, an appointment, a bit of bloodwork … but it gets harder with each passing day, as you justify your inaction, as your body starts to crumble.

And perhaps this pain is unrelated. Perhaps the icy ache in your hands is new. Not the rot slowly eating away everything you tried to be, but some external factor, viral and unpredictable. You have been sick, haven't you? Of course you have. Everyone has been sick here.

So it must be that.