There is a great connection between our bodies and our minds.
It seemed inevitable I should become sick.
Despair weakens the body and develops itself into overpowering germs that will away all energy from the body. I remember last year seeming unable to overcome a plague that, try as I might, refused to leave. It was also one of the hardest, most depressing times in my life. My body seemed to know this and took to illness like it was some emotional remedy; focus on rest, deal with the pain later.
With some demented delight I took pleasure as the plague devoured my body.
At least now I needn't feel guilty for my misery.
I'd have no energy to fight it.
I'd have to lay around void of responsibility and expectation.
What else could I do?
My body was now host for a parasite.
And always when I'm sick I crave companionship like a small child. And is most often the case, for tests only come in bountiful waves, never simply ones and twos, I most assuredly shall spend my bed rest in isolation, void of cuddles or comfort, sans my little foot stuffed animal and two very precocious felines.
Rest assured I don't admit all this to incite pity but to showcase the almost boring formulaic repetition life seems to offer; hope sprung to love that shattered to despair and festered into illness. Finally a wave of peace healed, a new appreciation fueling a drive to overcome, beginning anew, channeling and deriving a renewed energy, new faces, 'til finally a renewed hope, and once again, a new love.
My wave was still crashing, my pain still throbbing.
But somewhere quite far ahead I glimpsed my hope.
I need merely to endure while I gathered the strength to receive it.
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