Sick But Not Reading.

I’ve been stuck at home after being discharged from the hospital for a week and I am so bored.

It’s nothing too serious, but serious enough that I couldn’t go to work for a week and a half, or risk another trip back to the hospital.

You’d think I would have used that time to read, write more, and just be more productive in general, but you know what, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was too depressed and restless to do anything else other than to fidget and feel sorry for myself, which I utterly loathed. 

I hated being like that. I like to feel some kind of control over my fate and my own choices. And I hated the ridiculous state that I’d gotten myself into, which was to constantly feel sorry for myself.

If I hadn’t been bedridden, I’ve been nervously pacing around my house, and if I hadn’t been nervously pacing around the house, I’ve been crying my eyes out. Crying over my job prospects, my health, the pain I’ve caused my own family, and just getting upset at all the closed doors that I kept seeing in my future.

The one good thing that has come out of this health scare is that it’s forced me to reconsider what I really want from my life, as opposed to just ambling about and seeing what life threw at me. I can’t just accept things the way it is and I’m prepared to fight for the things I want.

Just to be clear, I’m still not sure what I want but I feel like I’ve taken some control back over my life, even if it’s just accepting that some things need to change.

I’m a lot calmer and happier than I was last week. I’m still uncertain about my future but there’s less trepidation and more excitement.


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