I woke up freezing, but burning alive. My sheets and pillows were damp. Did I have nightmare? No, I know what that feels like. Why am I so clammy? My heart was racing and pounding. Grabbed the stopwatch: 100 beats per minute, and I had only been awake for a couple minutes. Why won’t you slow down, silly heart?
I have a theory, but I can’t let it be true. I’m better than that.
So I go upstairs and perform my morning weight ritual. It’s shorter than usual, because I feel like passing out the whole time. Down 2 pounds from yesterday. As soon as I start walking, the shivering starts. I can hardly hold my toothbrush. I can’t catch my breath. Stars have starting passing in and out of my field of vision.
I decide it’s time for breakfast. I throw the frozen TV dinner in the microwave (don’t judge my breakfast preferences), and leave the wrappers on the counter and promptly sit as soon as I’m near a chair. I reach in the tub of snacks. I grab a fruit strip. I feel hungry and clammy, so this will help. Then I eat 11 pieces of candy. Then I chug a whole can of diet coke.
Finally, the eternity of 4-minute TV dinner’s cooktime is over and I don’t stir it or even wait for it to cool. I grab a fork and start chomping before I’m even back to the kitchen table. It’s gone in no time, even though bow tie noodles and baby carrots kept jumping off my fork.
Mom is trying to talk to me. Instead of being my usual grumpy self, I decide to tell her the truth: that I feel like utter shit. Take my temperature? Feel that? I’m sweaty! What’s wrong with me?
“Take a Xanax.”
I want to take my blood pressure, but my monitor is across the room and I’m safe back in my bed. I have too many things to do today to be sick.
What’s wrong with me? I know you don’t know. I think I know, but I’m better than that. Let’s not talk about that.
Maybe a nap will help. It never does, but maybe a nap will help.