There are some days where its a push to get out of bed. I may be exaggerating…if you’d ask my mom who has to bug me to get out of bed, everyday is difficult to get up. The few hours in between the time I’m given my late ‘morning’ pills by Mum, to me actually sitting up, pass in a sleep-drug hangover. It makes me rather annoyed that the pills don’t work at the time I’d like them to, but keep working long after I wish I was awake. By the time I do get out of bed, around 3, I have to start my IV, otherwise the timing is all wrong for the rest of the day. I feel like I’m always on drugs, but when I stop and think, I am.
I sometimes let myself wonder what life would feel like, if I was well. Sometimes late at night, when I have much “along-thinking-time”, I suddenly panic when I can’t remember what the sensation of running was like; what the emptiness of a fern covered forest smells like on one icy winter morning; what the exact sound a water-bomb smashing into your arm makes. Its these sort of things that keep me up at night.