Whenever I'm sick it feels like I'm in a different plane of existence. It's like the life I lead before I was sick was a fever dream. Just a distraction from the loop of sleep, ache, sleep, fail to eat, wish I cherished being healthy more, then sleep again. I was always in this state of infinite dying.
My memories of being perfectly healthy wither away like a story a stranger once told me. My voice? It was always this hoarse. My skin? It could always boil water. Pain? This isn't pain at all, it's existing.
I look at all the ungrateful healthy people, ignoring their good luck. I was like you once. In some other dimension. They go along with their lives not enjoying those moments while they have it. This is me now. Sick. I should accept it. Fighting change is pointless.
I swear if I'm ever healthy again, I'll cherish it. I'll do everything I ever wanted to, I'll take better care of myself. Fruits, vegetables, less meat, less chocolate. I will never know this forsaken place again. If I ever get better.
Then I get better. And I return to real life. Enjoying the health but quickly forgetting that dismal place I just left. Maybe I'll have an apple, some granola too. Until the novelty's over, and it's back to old habits too.