I’m at that point where there is no novelty left in this situation. I am sore, I am half-immobile because of the effort required to do anything and the rush of terror at the idea of doing anything to do with stairs unassisted. I have a dozen things to do, 90% of which would require more carrying and walking than I’m capable of for at least another week, even taking a bath (showers not allowed) requires a good half hour of planning and careful execution.
I was fine yesterday, if a little cranky, and woke up today more depressed and apathetic and on the verge of tears than I’ve been in a very, very long time. All I want to do is crawl back into bed and eat chips until I die.
Not giving in, obviously, and maybe putting it out there will be a start to digging myself out. Situational depression is a pretty standard part of longer-term injury recovery, but googling for stats and knowing them intellectually isn’t helping right now.
This sucks. And I can’t even get up the energy for a good, satisfying rant about how badly it sucks, that’s how suck-filled this is.
This sucks so badly that I actually want my mom, and she’s even more of an emotionally constipated, dispassionate, Vulcan-like black hole of negative energy than I am, so you know this isn’t going anywhere good.