Like a flag flying at half mast.
Like a leaky tank.
You fill up the engine, you expect to get from point A to point B.
But you run out of fuel halfway through.
Suddenly the tank is empty and you have to stop.
You have to sit.
You have to rest.
You have to breathe.
Like a prematurely aged body.
Odd, variable myalgia.
Dizziness and feelings of faintness.
Tired of being tired.
Short busts of energy.
Like the feeling of lockdown 3 when you thought we’d be over this.
Another breathless day.
Low oxygen saturations.
Like an elderly heart in heart failure.
Symptoms, but no plain radiographic changes.
If only it were all psychological.
If only I could talk my way out of this. Think my way out if this.
Reason it out.
Maybe use well-learned CBT techniques.
If my will-power alone would only get me up those stairs when my legs and my lungs refuse to go along.
For now I plod on.
I move forward.
Sometimes dragging my limbs forward.
Like walking through treacle.
Just keep inching forward.
Somehow I know in my heart there’s hope.
I know my redeemer lives.
Maybe Medical science will help.
And I know even if medical science has not found the answers yet.
I still have a living hope.
I’m still alive.
I’m still living in hope.
Hope that tomorrow will be better than today.
Even if yesterday disappointed.
There’s still tomorrow.