Fever

I lay in bed, twisting my body against the blanket, attempting to inspire any sensation other than the one in my head.
I tried to let the pain lull me into sleep, with no success.
This hot tingle, more than any kind of physical pain, sends me unwanted thoughts.
In a conscious state I could simply divert my attention. But in this place between sleep and wakefulness, I am victim to the whim of my subconscious.
She was right. What I’m looking for doesn’t exist. Even if it did, I wouldn’t deserve it.
Replaying recent history in my mind’s eye. If I had a gun pointed to my head, my finger inside the trigger guard, I would’ve squeezed. It wasn’t a firearm or a pistol. It was a “gun”. Numb to the sound.
The urge to empty my bladder filled me (rim shot).
I suspected standing would cause headache and dizziness. Still, I had already urinated into the sports drink bottle next to me. Attempting this a second time might result in spilled urine.
I stood to find pain and dizziness. I stepped forward a few steps and grasped the door frame of the bathroom.
I sat on the toilet and blew my nose into my hand. I wiped the remaining mucus from my nose onto my arm. I would have to shower now.
Under the hot pour of the shower, I emptied my nose several times.
I dried my body and climbed back into bed.
I slept almost immediately but woke again a couple hours later.
I knew I could continue fighting consciousness, inspiring copious amounts of pain, or I could attempt to get up. Either way, I faced pain.
Then I remembered not to fight the pain, but to welcome it as a part of me.
Suddenly, the pain was valid. I rode each wave with delight, taking control. This was my pain. I owned it.
Then the fever broke.

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