Echoes by Dana

Unchained. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Unapologetically me.

Category: Lyme

  • What Goes Down Must (Hopefully) Go Up

    It’s a new day. I’m sitting at my laptop, pretending to be one of those “normies” who just drink coffee and focus on tasks without spiraling into existential dread. Today, my brain feels strangely composed, almost like it read the manual for “how to human.” Even the rain and chilly wind outside can’t ruin the vibe.

    But yesterday? Oh boy. Yesterday was like being stuck on a boat during a storm, waves smacking me around, holding on for dear life, just waiting for calmer waters. Is that storm really over, or am I just chilling in the eye of it, smiling while chaos reloads in the background the next day?

    Yesterday-me was… scary. Crying for no reason, panicking, helpless, like the weight of the world had decided to crash down on my shoulders. Yesterday felt like sinking into the Mariana Trench, the lowest, darkest place on earth, with no light, no direction, and only my inner child screaming in the pressure of the deep.

    Then the evening came, exhaustion body-slammed me into bed, and today? It’s like nothing happened. Clean slate. Except… not really. Yesterday is still lurking in the corner like an awkward guest at a party, reminding me it could come back.

    So for now, I keep going, typing, sipping coffee, playing normie. Secretly hoping that this Lyme flare packed its bags and moved to another dimension, preferably one without Wi-Fi so it can’t find me again.

  • When the Light Hits Just Right

    It’s late afternoon, that magical time when the sun starts flirting with the idea of setting, and I’m counting down the final hour of the workday like a kid waiting for recess. I’m at my desk, bathed in golden light, practically glowing like I’ve been blessed by some productivity goddess. The sunlight dances across my keyboard, pirouettes on my monitor, and gently warms my hand like a soft whisper saying, “You’ve almost made it.”
    A slight turn of my head to the right, and there it is,  my garden, stretching out beyond the window like a peaceful postcard. The old apple tree stands proud, showing off its three shades of leaves like it’s trying on outfits for autumn. It’s the end of August, and summer is slowly packing its bags. Soon, the rain will return, and the sun will get lazy, no longer showing up to warm my soul after a long day.
    This week? Meh. Flat. Less sparkly than the last. A gentle nudge from Lyme, reminding me it’s still hanging around like an unwanted guest who doesn’t know when to leave. Some days, I just want to crawl into a cave, shut the world out, and cry until everything feels okay again.
    But then, these warm summer days. They whisper, “Not yet.” They tempt me to walk the dog, to stretch my legs for 8 kilometers just to earn a scoop of ice cream that tastes like victory. They remind me that life isn’t supposed to feel like this forever. That healing is slow, but it’s coming. That I’m stronger than I feel.
    And I believe it. I have to. Because deep down, I know: I can beat this.