I think one of the loneliest parts of being chronically ill is realizing how much life happens without you.
People keep going to work, making plans, getting married, going on trips.
And you’re still in the same bed, watching the world move forward through a phone screen.
You become an expert at saying “maybe next time” until eventually you stop believing there will be a next time.
Nobody really sees that part.
They just see that you’re still breathing.
The absolute sorrow one feels is excruciating.
The guilt. The grief. The utter loneliness that comes with being alone.
I think you just have to decide one day that you can’t drown in it anymore.
Perhaps, that’s the first step to finding peace.
