Fever Priviledge

it’s 72 hours after the second shot. i had a fever, headache, thought i was dying, etc. etc. i have such a strange reaction to fevers. i tend to cry as the fever starts to rise. like, not even crying over anything. my body just starts shedding tears, just rolling down my cheeks as I watch tv or lay there trying to sleep. then they turn into sobs. and then i am suddenly treading in the darkest, most terrible depression. as if i was too weak to hold it at bay. it starts with the “nobody loves mees” and ends with i hope whatever this is kills me because i can’t live like this anymore. and then the headache leaves, fever disappears and back to normal, right?

except that it’s there, it’s always there, right beneath the surface, and times like these remind me that it’s there just waiting to strike. and i think i hide it well but that’s a joke. honestly, i feel like if you are able to be honest about who you are and how you are feeling, you are in a position of privilege and power. because i know that if i were true to myself, no way would i be employed at the place that pays me, and no way would I have the few friends I do. most of my friends are fair weathered, anyways, and I interact with them so rarely that i don’t have to worry too much about this. and that’s not an accident. I learned a long time ago the quickest way to lose people is by showing them how much pain you are actually in. because most people don’t want to hear that shit. they can’t. they don’t want to know where you came from or what you been through unless there’s a hashtag in front of it so they can lump you into the collective suffering and not have to THINK about what it actually means to live after being abused or tortured or abandoned. and that’s okay, actually. because everyone, EVERYONE, is suffering from something. it’s not really realistic to expect anyone to want to be there. and even if they were, they really couldn’t BE there. only people who actually know what it’s like, who have survived and live with it every day, only they would really know what it is you need. tossing and turning in a fever bed alone. only they would know to stroke your forehead and place a cold cloth on it as you fight the demons and memories that swallow you whole in a time of weakness. to bring you some water when you don’t even realize how long your body has gone without relief. to just be there, quietly, and let you know you’re not alone in the darkest corners of human existence. only someone who has survived can help a survivor to weather the fever.

i just wish I knew more of them. but, like me, they are all pretending to be just fine.