Say You Know What This is Like

I paint my nails. I shower. Deodorant applied. I style my hair, moisturize my face, drink water, go to the gym. I take care of my body. I perform a ritual; life in routines.

Say you know me. You know what it's like to slide back under the blankets after readying your body for the day because the body says no. It says heavy. It says too much, go back to bed, just can't. You know what it's like when your joints flare and the top of your skull seems to want to break free.

But you have work to do, like me. So say that too. Say you are behind a week and you are in bed under the covers with your laptop because there are people waiting for you to respond. To say yes to this, no to that, more of this please, less of that. You are a stamp waiting to validate.

I type the words. I read the emails. I enjoy the work even though it hurts sometimes to do it. Say you know this pain. Say you know what it feels like when a demon pries its way into your shoulders just at the base of your neck and settles in with a weight that makes it hard not to lay down, close your eyes or, as your partner suggests, call your doctor for a prescription increase. He sees that demon is depression. If he could rip it from your back, he would, but it is a phantom despite its visceral weight.

Say this happens to you when the weather changes. When the sky darkens and the leaves drop and the air cools. Say you just like being wrapped up in blankets but, really, you don't know how to escape those folds because they are your coccoon and you want to metamorphose (into what, you don't know, but you hope it has lift).

I brush my teeth. I eat my breakfast. I drink my coffee. I type my thoughts.

Say you get me. Say you know what this is like.

images from pixabay.com