"I feel horrible, I slept at a hotel last night."
You know when you travel and nothing is actually in your complete control? For instance, no bed is comfy enough because it isn't yours? And when you finally make it back home, no matter how great the vacay, you just can't help but let out a giant sigh of relief as you flop down on your very own made-for-you bed.
Here's the twist: my life is a vacation of sorts. But not what you're thinking; I can tell you're making that wrinkled face of confusion so let me explain.
I feel like I'm lost in a foreign country with no map, unable to speak the language, with no one bothering to help me out. This is how it feels when I examine my body--myself--knowing I don't even understand what's going on with me half the time. In fact, most of the time I'm utterly confused. And worst of all, like the people in my comparison, doctors don't want to help me either.
The whole loss of control bit is what scares me the most, and I dwell on it more than I should, and I know this. It fuels my anxiety, and it makes me question how my future days will be spent. Which, of course, leads to hopeless thoughts and cycles of chaos and depression. Opposite of how bubbly my character once was.
My actual bed is really comfy. I can't complain there. It's where I tend to--no, have to--spend all my time, though. I have to rest. I can't overexert myself. I can't be stressed. I can't do anything. But at least my bed is comfy!
I used to go camping what seemed like every weekend with my family. Our adventurous vacations thrilled me and revitalized me. They were also the most likely cause of how I contracted Lyme disease. Even so, I look back on the memories fondly. Mainly because I'm unable to participate in family camping anymore. But also because I remember what it felt like when we returned from camping, unlocked the door to the house--filling our nostrils with its sweet, special smell--set our bags down to be unpacked, and each went to our own rooms. I was able to lie back on my bed and breathe that familiar sigh of relief. This is my bed and I missed it.
It is the same with my sick body. I will see photos or remember how it used to be with my previous life. An aura surrounding me, filled with happiness and a carefree energy. A skinny girl with a wide smile who could run and dream--full of energy, full of life. I catch glimpses of my former self and I think...This was my body. And I miss it.