Sullen Malady

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by TujoThePanda

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Left to languish in this sullen stupor, I am bereaved by a persistent cough and an underlying chill, the fever induced delirium readily joined by a sense of lethargy and languor to follow. Conscious am I to look upon the world around me through blurred sight, I cannot seem to focus my thoughts on any task or cause before me. For my senses all appear to have become suppressed by what ailments afflict me most, and what little I can do is sit in partial awareness of my standing and immediate surroundings, near an far. An unknown malady, unfamiliar only in what span of time had elapsed since the last touch of sickness crossed years past, unwelcome and foreign all the same. What ailment in malady of illness is this to have left me sleep walking through life, wholly lacking in what direction or drive I had once felt most important in going forth.

I sit, I lay, and yet am afforded little in the way of feature comfort to placate what aches and pains mark this deepened state of torpor follows this longstanding illness. And in sleep, whilst I readily fall into restful solace, I am no sooner met with conjurations of the mind that follow from distorted fantasies and crossed memories brought forth in dream. And then I seem to wake in a deeper state of dysphoria than what I had felt in turning to bed. In day to come, it is best described that life around me is wholly lacking in color and vividness than I remember it being before. No longer do I find pleasure in the simple joys in what elapses around me. The taste of warm food and drink in nourishment, the soothing sounds of the wilds outside, even the tender allure of distant music.

In mind, it is the complete lack of focus in thought and imagination that perhaps frustrates me the most. The marked inability to string thoughts and ideals cohesively from that creative spark, let alone the drive to continue and do more that holds me back, and the time between is left wasted as I struggle to recover. And in the fever-induced delirium that preoccupies my mind, thoughts by and large come and go without rhyme or reason. I react to what unfolds before me as happens or after the fact, else there is little to respond to. I strain against the fog that seems to cloud my mind, trying desperately to develop a sense of conviction for what creations I hope to capture or commit to paper in the passing moments.

In body, the inability or unwillingness to move stems from what aches and pains mark the joints and body to follow. To move to relieve or seek nourishment is met by an overall sense of torpor in my body proceeding forth. Tired, slovenly, my staggering steps are gripped by a dizzying nausea. Clumsiness follows in all the things I attempt to do, whether in stumbling forth or in reaching out to interact with what things happen to be around me. The desire to eat had seemed to left me entirely, and yet I turn to what modestly meals may afford me enough energy to sustain me throughout this struggle. Haggard breaths pass through chapped lips to the rise and fall of my chest, bronchial passages deep within swollen and gorged with the presence of something entirely foreign. The forehead becomes hot soon after, much as the neck under the collar turns stifling as before, and I shed off the layers of cover and jacket to accommodate.

As the hours are whittled away by the passage of minutes one after the other, I eagerly look forwards to my timely recovery in what modest efforts had been set forth conducive to such outcome. A careful dosage of medicine, and what stimulants in tea and coffee aid in a sense of mental alertness, with rest when able to to. While the worst may have come to pass as indicated by measurement of the thermometer, I feel as though the malady in sickness has drawn on several days longer than should have been probable. And the only sense of cold-comfort that I find is the notion that this could be far worse than what I experience now. This is hopefully only a temporary ailment.. but there is that lingering thought that is met with an open-ended question. What if this was to mark every day of my life to come going forth in how I am to feel?

Commentary: I've actually been really sick as of late, and having to work due to probationary obligations (to the job, not to the law) makes it mandatory I show up on the work floor no matter what. Days go by that I wake up dizzy and tired in the morning, only to go right to bed after coming home after a full days work. I don't want to gripe or preach to the choir what anyone else might already be feeling right now, but it really sucks. Feels like a massive waste of time, honestly. Four hours put to rest every day that I could have been using to get things done around the house, or in more creative pursuits like artistry and writing. Instead, it's used up in sleep, just so I can wake up the following morning alert and awake enough to weather a long commute and a days work, and hopefully make it back just awake enough to make it home. It's all I can do right now to sustain myself, honestly.

I'd like to say the worst is over, but it feels like the worst comes back in waking up the day after I say it. Caffeine provided graciously from a strong brew of coffee has been the one catch-all to improve my mood and sense of well-being, but its a remedy I use reservedly for the obvious reasons. As for the piece itself, I managed to illustrate and color this during what little time I have during lunch-break over the course of the week, and finished it up sometime yesterday. A few minutes here and there to sum up how I've been feeling as of late. Partly an excuse as to why there hasn't been anything in the way of submissions posted for a while.

Hope I get better soon...

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