Mental Health | Chronic Pain | Self

Waking Up From Chronic Illness In Quarantine

First thing’s first. What’s the first thing again?

I wake up every morning before my boyfriend. For a couple of hours, I lay there. I’m slowly trying to digest the feelings of my dream — so forcibly regurgitated.

Back to the mind, those thoughts go.

Every day I wake up, I’m already tired. I’m exhausted. I feel drained from the daily routine I adopted in quarantine.

Anxiety pulls my body from slumber. Depression takes over from there.

I feel eighty, but I’m almost twenty-three. I have to remind myself I’m too young to feel this weak.

The daily routine goes as follows:

1. Wake up with the feeling of slight dread

2. Remember all the things I forgot last night

3. Forget it all again

4. Remember I need to take my Vyvanse

5. Also, remember I must eat first, or I’ll fall ill to my medication

Fuck, I don’t want to get out of bed.

I choose to look at my phone instead. I open messages I know I won’t answer. It’s hard to communicate when other thoughts consistently occupy your mind — distractions in the form of physical pain.

My mind hasn’t woken up yet. I’m not in the right state for communication with those I love.

My boyfriend is still asleep; my dog is at my feet. I should take my pills, eat something, and then I can get back to whatever it is I’ve been doing here in bed.

Every morning, screams from my body are scattered. They materialize as physical sensations.

My body hates today because yesterday was tiring enough. Sometimes it’s enough to convince me to stay in bed all day.

Since living with my boyfriend, it feels like a burden to stay in bed. I can’t subject his “quarantine life” to nothingness, every single day. Oblivion is my routine, not his.

How depressing it must be to wake up and do nothing when the whole day could be yours. When you’re able, you can do anything. When you’re disabled, it feels like you can’t.

It’s already sad here.

We claim we’re making the best of it, but every couple of days, it feels like we’re back in the low slump of depression. Maybe that’s just me.

A cycle of chronic pain dictates my daily schedule. Waking up tired is the worst feeling. If I go back to bed, I’ll only feel worse. It’s a catch 22. Nothing makes this better.

I look at my dog, serenely wrapped under her “doggy blanket.” She’s a beagle, so she loves snuggling under soft things. I sit and pet her for a while. Just long enough to remember, I haven’t taken my pills.

I finally pull my body out of bed.

I’m on a mission to find a morning snack. A granola bar. Anything that won’t make me feel like throwing up. As I sit on my bed, taking in my morning ritual, I wonder what will become of today.

Then I ask my mind why it won’t stop swirling.

I remember I haven’t taken my Vyvanse. My brain is as right as oatmeal if I go without it. Vyvanse will help!

I’m too tired to reach for the pill bottle or the bucket of pills I assign to the daily boxes in my pill organizer. I got the pillbox approved by the arthritis foundation. I was so excited at the thought of it no longer hurting my fingers to open.

Oh, the things that excite me!

I wonder how my friends wake up these days.

Do they feel the same?

I’ll probably force myself to feel happier in a couple of hours; to get myself outside and focus on what the day could bring alongside my partner.

He’s still sleeping, and I’m jealous. It’s hard out here in the mornings alone. I don’t think I could deal without these moments of silence, though. I love him, but I’m too tired. Not tired enough to go back to sleep, but tired enough to feel defeated.

Just another morning.

Wait — Actually, I think I will go back to sleep.