Sick and Salty

I’m sick. I almost decided not to write anything today, but I missed last week because of laptop charger problems and another week would turn it into a habit. Some of you who know me know that I don’t get sick. One of my favorite small pleasures in life is frustrating people who give me shit about my “unhealthy diet” and “lack of exercise”. You know, those people that stuff themselves stupid with oranges and still have the immune system of a premature newborn. I love watching them get mad at how my quarter pounder cheeseburger loving ass gets coughed on and eats public table fries and is fine. I’ve noticed that the last two times I’ve gotten sick was because I wasn’t wearing appropriate clothing for the cold weather. This makes sense, my body being unaccustomed and probably not built for the cold.

But there’s something that I’ve learned in getting sick this time. I’ve been so tired that I can’t be bothered to give a fuck. And not the usual variety of indifference that is part of my being at this point. I apparently don’t have enough energy to feel anxiety. I’m too focused on how awful I feel to focus on freaking out about how I should react in any given social setting. I’m a pretty selfish person, but I also don’t want to unnecessarily talk or interact with people, so I go to some lengths to be courteous and considerate enough to stay out of people’s way, even if I’m in the right. But being sick I’m forced to look after myself more, to put my wellbeing first and not feel guilty about it. I’m not plagued with worries of what people think as I take the elevator one floor up to my room. The words ‘Bite Me’ are at the edge of my lips at all times, ready to verbally attack anyone who looks at me wrong for a second too long.

Any civilized human being knows that you walk on the right side of sidewalks, hallways, everything really. I’m usually the type of person who will move out of the way when someone is coming towards me, even though they’re very obviously in the wrong. Today I didn’t even twitch to the left as some guy decided that he couldn’t take those extra steps to his right after crossing the street. I don’t have that extra energy to expel in making the world more comfortable by making myself more invisible. Surely enough he moved, probably miffed because men are less likely to step out of the way (google manslamming for more results).

I try to act like I don’t care about what people think of me, and a part of me genuinely doesn’t. But the rest of it gets drowned out by my social anxiety, leaving me in the corner petrified and angry. I constantly go through bursts of trying to be more proactive, whispering “fuck it” under my breath and forcing myself to do things to try to function like a normal human being. But this time this change feels different, more permanent. I hope it is.


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