Over a week of coughing up phlegm, speaking through a stale, worn-out voice. The flu is finally passing.
Today, I ran a half-marathon just to quiet my mind. To breathe. To try to hold myself steady before the storm of this coming week. Soon, I’ll learn what comes next, treatment, work, life. The shape of my future.
I hate being in this space of not-knowing. There’s comfort in normalcy and routine, and yet I feel severed from both. Everything I do feels like it’s for everyone else. What I want always feels just out of reach. So, I keep moving through the motions, numb and muted, the inner world tucked somewhere I can’t quite access.
Everything for others, rarely for myself. Except when I’m running. That’s where I still recognize me.
I started watching Breaking Bad again. Somehow it feels fitting now, with this diagnosis looming over everything. Maybe I’m trying to channel a bit of Heisenberg…. Walter White…. someone who seized control when life threatened to define him. It’s strange and comforting to see Albuquerque again, the city we once left to escape crime and heaviness.
This week I find out what happens next.
Please let it be bearable.
Please let it be something I can carry.
I can’t help but think….
I hate this.
All of it.
Life feels sharp and unkind right now and that’s just the truth.
Journaling was Recommended 