it hurts so much that for once it seems easier to abandon the third person narrative. it seems impossible to hide behind medusa, now that most certainties have been dismissed and all uncertainties and fears have come true.
have always known self to hurt physically when sad. but this time beats all other previous times. i walk in a haze of headaches, slow, dull throbbing behind the forehead, inability to look at anything that is bright, or hear anything that is loud. things around me appear to be covered in some kind of dull powdery grains that shrivel up to my touch. my unhappiness hangs around me like a limp curtain that i can touch, but never move.
had always prided self on being able to sleep sadness off, but now can no longer sleep. waking up means headaches, but still, every morning is a battle with wakefulness, the attempt to hold on to the comfort and safety of pillows and blankets, the need to quench the all-consuming thirst without getting off the bed.
i'm thirsty, and aching.