“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” – Winston Churchill
It’s a sunburn that won’t heal. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. Your whole body itches. It hurts to move.
You wake up. You can’t get out of bed.
Your eye lids are swollen. You have to pry them open with your fingers as some sort of ooze that has glued them shut.
You take six steps towards your front door before leaning against the couch, out of breath.
“I’ll just walk down the stairs and take the elevator up,” you say.
It’s been another 18 hour of day of clawing at your skin while your bones ache and your hair falls out.
You can’t sleep. It’s cold outside. Get out of bed.
You look like a leper. You can’t go out into public looking like this.
You don’t care. Let them judge. It’s not about them.
Your hands are split open. Making a fist slices small cuts into you hand like an X-Acto knife.
Doesn’t matter. Wrap those bitches up. Let them bleed into the gauze. Off to the gym.
Self doubt sets in. You tell yourself you’re weak. Why bother going to the gym.
It doesn’t matter if you’re moving big weights. You’re here, where you belong.
You get out of your car. Lifting your chin up causes the skin around your neck neck to split open.
You feel sweat sting every inch of your body.
We don’t have time to care about that.
People ask how your skin is doing. You tell them that your skin is the least interesting topic to talk about.
They are curious and insist. You give a look. You don’t have time to dwell on that.
You’re too busy moving.
You’re going to be in a private Hell.
If you can’t walk, you crawl. If you can’t crawl, you squirm. If you can’t move, you blink. If you can’t blink, you think.
There is only one way to survive Hell.