Broken Doll

By 2pm today I was exhausted — not ordinary I’d-like-to-take-a-five-minute-brain-break exhausted, but to the point where I couldn’t put complete sentences together. Couldn’t follow a train of thought. My hands shook. I wasn’t sure I could stand up without falling. And here I am trying to carry almost half of a small company on my shoulders, no one else who can do it, and I can’t. I can’t keep up. It’s too damn much.

I can’t even walk the three blocks to work without breathing hard.

And Sunday night I spent an hour on the phone with my mom crying because I was afraid to wash my hair. Afraid of how much of it would wash down the drain. Another fistful gone and how thin would it look? And it turned out that despite the golf-ball sized mass of (now-short, no less) hair, it’s still hard to tell. So of course I’ll be doing this again tonight. My hair is dirty and needs a wash and how much of it will go down the drain? How visible will it be?

I’m too tired. Too tired to deal with this. I get home and can barely move, can’t pack for moving house, I feel like I’m way behind on everything. There’s no one here but me. And I can’t keep up. And tomorrow I may wake up feeling okay like this morning but then go to work and do it all over again until I can’t even move by early afternoon.

My nose bled all over the bathroom sink tonight. I blew my nose because I couldn’t breathe with all the blood clots in there and it just came loose and bled like a river. And here I’m thinking that if I tell my nurses about this, I don’t have the time to give them if they want to see me.

I need to wash my hair. I don’t have the energy to deal with the wig. I want to cry.