Weak

I’m sorry if I didn’t answer you. It’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s not that I forgot. It’s not that I don’t have the time. I have plenty of time.

If we would talk right now, my head would spin, my body would tense, I would almost lose my balance. Yes, I want to see your smiling eyes. No, I don’t want to be left alone. Yes, I want to hear what you have to say.

I’m sorry I winced away when I saw you coming down the road. Sixty seconds to stand and say hello would be wonderful, if my legs didn’t feel like slush. If I can keep moving, it’s not as obvious… that’s why I keep insisting we take a walk.

G-d, what is happening to me? Why do I not want to get up, even to meet the world? When did the simple things become so overwhelming? When did I forget how to say hello to a friend, much less a stranger?

Where is the jumping child I still feel in there, trying to move me to do all these wonderful things?
Is this mental? Am I just not taking care of myself?
I’m not even twenty-five. Why am I so tired? Why is it so hard to talk? What is going on?

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