I felt good, I was out and doing things, working, shopping, spending time with people I care about, it was really nice. And in the back of my head I was thinking, "Oh, God, I was just so lazy. I wasted years because I was 'tired' and 'depressed' and 'in pain', when really all I ever was was bored."
And I get so embarrassed. And I feel so guilty.
But then, like I always do, I crash. Something like spending 40 of the next 48 hours asleep-- like I did this weekend and have been dragging ever since.
Part of me is grateful for the crash, if only because it reinforces that I'm not crazy. It reminds me that I'm really not in control regardless of how it may seem for days at a time. So in a way it's comforting.
It's amazing how easily the months (years!) of misery can be so quickly undone by a few days of normalcy. "Hey, this feels normal!" becomes, "What if I'm actually normal...?!"
But my body never lets me down. Sooner or later, or very sooner, I'll be back in bed.
Because I'm sick. Not crazy.