10 days later and the illness still refuses to disappear. I went in to the medical center again to follow up on my first check up. Still waiting. Still not knowing.

I may be broken, friends.


I am stressing out about work. This is not helping my current physical state. It's not the work that gets me, but the amount of time that I'm required to devote to the job. I feel like the world falls apart when I call in sick. No one to cover me, no one to share the load. I've only taken two days off of work to care for myself, and I feel like it's been far too much. I went to work last Thursday looking and feeling miserable, but there was no way around it. And I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't for the fact that the days I take off to get well are less days I can allot for a much needed vacation (two years, DAMN IT!!!). So I force myself to go to work, all the while never getting better and digging myself deeper and deeper into the same hole.

I am on the verge of tears.


I jumped on the bandwagon and became one of them. You know. Them. And here I am, a mere two weeks later, and I've come to the sad realization that I can never be one of them. I expect too much from others; friends, strangers, it doesn't matter. For the most part, it's a great thing. My friends are incredible people, who are some of my life’s many blessings. In times like these, I understand why I've been alone for so long. Regardless, I prefer loneliness to settlement. And I really mean that this time. The butterflies are wonderful, but only if they are truly and honestly real.

It's just the waiting that kind of sucks a little.


My heart will heal, as it always does. But what the hell is wrong with the rest of me?

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