As I walk home from the hospital, I take breaks in coffee shops and am feeling frantic. I feel like I'm running a fever.
It's getting so hard to tell people about what's going on for me. I feel like I loop them into my anxiety. I don't end up feeling much better, and they end up feeling upset. There's kind of no point to that.
Even though people know, it doesn't mean that they will help me. Even if they want to help me, it doesn't mean that they know how.
I can be brave for myself. I can't be brave for all of them.
That night, I am as sick to my stomach as I've ever been as an adult. It lasts for 2 days. It turns out, I really was feverish. It wasn't just psychosomatic.
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