It’s oppressively humid outside. The weather alternates between sun, clouds, and explosive thunderstorms with torrential rain. The air smothers like a wet wool blanket. I gain weight each time I inhale.

Inertia drags at my bones. The combination of Fibromyalgia, Lyme disease and antibiotics leaves me drained. I stare mindlessly at nothing while my mind roars, berating me for my laziness. I am too tired to tell it to shut up.

Days like this are a trial. A long “To-Do” list coupled with zero energy sends my critical mind into overdrive. Its casual jabs soon escalate into a long list of all my flaws and faults; when that fails to get me going it paints ever grimmer pictures of what I will turn into if I don’t get my lazy tail in gear. I will morph into a shapeless blob of flesh, it says, unable to do the simplest tasks, scorned by all who set eyes on me. I will be a drain on society, a worthless parasite. I may as well kill myself right now, for I have become a waste of space and air. This litany, no doubt intended to goad me to action, only paralyzes me further. I already “know” that what it says is true; so what’s the use even trying? I am doomed before I start.

I am not usually this grim. I know rationally that this mindset, in part, is due to the way I feel right now. Once the antibiotics kick in, i will return to my usual optimistic self. I will feel like doing things again, and these dark clouds will be a memory. But right now I struggle to find the good. It’s going to be a long day.