With every day that goes by, I spend more and more time on the floor. I wish I didn’t, but now more often than ever, my body doesn’t give me a choice.
I’ve been sick with a chronic illness for almost two years now, and as the cold weather returns this winter, so do my symptoms. Pain, body aches, exhaustion, dizziness, nausea, pounding heart, chills — the list goes on. These days, my body is working harder than ever just to stay online.
When you’re sick every day, you can’t afford to miss school. Even if you’re not well enough to attend, you have no choice because you know you won’t be getting better anytime soon.
I get to school, my crutches click-clocking down the hallway. I find my special corner with an outlet for my heating pad, and I pull out my sleeping bag.
Since I’m physically disabled, walking around to different buildings to find places to rest before my classes is just too difficult. So I’ve got my sleeping bag right in the same building as my classes — and I lie there, right on the floor: same corner, same floor, same buzzing overhead lights.
For everyone else walking past, time moves normally. Classes start and end, conversations come and go, and people pass by one after another. For everyone else, 10 minutes is just 10 minutes.
But for me, on my sleeping bag, time flies. My body becomes paralyzed from lack of energy. I realize I’ve been staring at the same spot on the wall for hours. Morning turns to afternoon turns to evening — and I’m still there, lying motionless on the ground.
“This must be how plants or objects feel.” I begin to think.
As the hours go by, I blend in. I notice how unique each person’s life is. Everyone’s living in their own story with their own goals, emotions, and circumstances.
I’m like a fly on the wall. As the exhaustion intensifies, sounds become muffled, and events seem to move in fast-motion. Yet there I am, minute after minute, hour after hour, trying so hard to stay still to keep the pain at bay.
My brain starts to tell me that my life is wasting away — but I know my life is so much more meaningful than the hours I spend as still as a statue. Every breath I continue to take, every minute of rest, every joyful thought that floats around my head as I stare at the wall is a signal that I’m healing.
It might take a little longer than expected, but I’m healing.