[ENTRY 78..✍️]
My head hurts. I feel a hammer hitting the insides of my skull when I get up. Every turn or shake of my head blocks my vision with a bloody darkness. I close my eyes for a minute or two as I await to regain my view, before forcing myself to stand up despite the strong desire to do anything but. The action alone puts my world unbalanced. My body sways as I struggle to stand up straight, feeling a venomous liquid stir inside my head as it fills every sensitive corner of it.
I can't be sick. This is not the right time. It will devour every last ounce of optimism left in my system to do anything productive in the following days.
I throw a hand on my forehead in frustration and pathetic hope to erase the pain but the touch only sends needles prickling through my skin. Great. Just great. I begin to walk for the thought of food. The sore in my stomach pleads to be treated and can no longer be ignored. I can't help feeling guilty as I rub its flatness and emptiness, envisioning images of my intestines digesting nothing and acids eating away my stomach walls. I know I need food but I'm not particularly hungry. It's like eating has turned into an obligation now.
I continue my way to the kitchen but every step I make is a challenge. Every inch of my skin aches and every bone in my body is weak. My back is crouched low and in a desperate need for a long massage. My walls are practically closing their gates for strength and happiness. I feel so vulnerable. I check my phone and the date catches my attention.
February 4.
In an instant, flashbacks come bouncing into my memory as I recall the devastation I felt that day.
God..
It's been seven years? How… It doesn't seem at all that far away..
Longing and sadness then cloud over me.
And I begin to wonder what he's doing today.