It’s been two weeks where pain and exhaustion decided to move in with me like unwanted roommates. Saturday has arrived, the day when most families are cooking, shopping, cleaning, or doing a million “normal” things. Me? I went shopping too… except I did it limping through the aisles like a half-awake zombie auditioning for a horror film. But hey, groceries made it home, that counts as a victory.

Once everything was shoved into its rightful place (or at least somewhere close enough), I swapped my “outside” clothes for a loyal pair of pyjamas, curled up on the couch, and let frustration and pain leak out in the form of tears. Now I’m just sitting here, waiting for the magical spark of energy to arrive so I can manage lunch and my pile of pills.

These “pain days” feel like a terrifying rollercoaster ride, one of those ones that shoot you into the sky and then drop you down so hard your heart forgets its job. It’s especially cruel after getting a brief taste of three whole weeks of feeling almost normal, walking for miles, climbing hills, daring to believe my body was on my side again.

And then the thought creeps in: Will this ever really end? Is this my life now? Chronic illness is heavy, exhausting, and isolating. It tricks you into hopelessness. But just like every rollercoaster, what goes down must eventually go up again. So, I wait.

For now, I’ll stay wrapped in my warm blanket fortress, with my sausage dog—the best little therapy buddy anyone could ask for, snuggled on my lap. If nothing else, at least I’m not riding this rollercoaster alone.