Sometimes I wonder if my disease does become more aggressive in moments of mental weakness, physically manifesting as pain. More brittle days, where the pain is assertive more than just the dull aches in places that promise it's still there, slowly devouring my mortality.
Certainly the burnout manifests as physical signs of mental illness. The unkempt hair, the unshorn visage. The detritus about the bedroom. The inability to care about ones self. The myriad symptoms that have variously been branded as laziness, and yet- my disease still hasn't figured out that there's only so far it can push me before that burnout flares hot as an active fire that demands we tend to things, that no we can't live like this.
This will not be our end, and we will keep fighting. Even if it cost us a sick day from work, we will find a way to fight back against the spite and ennui of our malignant comorbidity that dwells with us every day until that final note of the choir is sung, and all is silence. We will not meet our end meekly in the prison of our own mind hewed from the frozen bars of grey hued ice frigid from depression.
Certainly the burnout manifests as physical signs of mental illness. The unkempt hair, the unshorn visage. The detritus about the bedroom. The inability to care about ones self. The myriad symptoms that have variously been branded as laziness, and yet- my disease still hasn't figured out that there's only so far it can push me before that burnout flares hot as an active fire that demands we tend to things, that no we can't live like this.
This will not be our end, and we will keep fighting. Even if it cost us a sick day from work, we will find a way to fight back against the spite and ennui of our malignant comorbidity that dwells with us every day until that final note of the choir is sung, and all is silence. We will not meet our end meekly in the prison of our own mind hewed from the frozen bars of grey hued ice frigid from depression.