I’m really struggling to do things at the moment.
Last weekend, on a sudden and strange impulse, I joined some friends as they took a Bank Holiday weekend road trip to an event in South West Wales, not far from where my mum was born.
Eschewing the event itself, I saw it as my the first true holiday in over a decade (ie, going somewhere for the sake of going somewhere, rather than to stay with friends or family, or attend a development event), booked a lovely Airbnb, and packed a good book.
Sadly I found no time for the latter and, rather than coming back refreshed, I’ve spent most of my time since returning in a crumpled bed-bound heap, wracked with exhaustion and the sadness that comes from reigniting a sense of isolation and not-belonging born from having high sensitivity, a long-term disabling illness, and mobility issues which leave me trailing behind.
Frankly, it’s pretty sucky.
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