Sick

Something has been off in my body for the past 24, 48, 72 hours. I don’t feel well, though it’s fairly non-specific and generalized: malaise, aches, heaviness and swelling in my joints, unrelenting headache, throbbing muscles scattered throughout my body, and vague nausea. This type of mild sickness is unfortunately fairly common for me, but that doesn’t make it any less disruptive or any easier to get through. It is often accompanied by a low-grade fever and dizziness, but so far, I’ve been spared of those symptoms in this current bout (although the magnitude of the body aches and headache seem to be proportionately worse to compensate!).

Besides the discomfort of coping with the symptoms of feeling unwell (the throbbing joint and muscle pain is the most bothersome problem), I have to combat the sensory symptoms, which are always exacerbated with this sort of illness. In fact, sometimes it is unclear whether I have an actual virus or biological underpinning to feeling sick, or if it’s a product of sensory processing disorder, PTSD, autism overload, or a combination thereof. I have reason for my suspicion as I always seem to get this concoction of symptoms after being in overstimulating environments, experiencing triggering or anxiety-provoking events, or socially stressful and overwhelming situations. It’s plausible that these psychological or emotional stressors do lower my immunity, leaving me susceptible for viral or bacterial invasion of some sort, but the typical timing of events makes that unlikely, as it occurs immediately afterward. The only difference is that these bouts last for several days with no respite, whereas unadulterated sensory overload or emotional fatigue can often be resolved with a long afternoon and full night of rehab and relaxation.

Whatever the cause, when I am sick, my auditory and tactile defensiveness are the most affected: countless tiny sounds—ones even I can normally tolerate—are excruciating. For example, I usually enjoy the sound of birds sweetly singing, but I can’t handle it today. I have noise-canceling hunting headphones, but I can still hear them through those, plus wearing them seems to turn the amplifier on my own physiologic sounds, turning the volume up on my heartbeat, the fluid rushing through my ears, and the normal whisper of my relaxed breath nearly bellows in this internal cocoon. I seem to be able to discern every square millimeter of skin and each individual hair’s slight position change when I move. I can’t allow any part of my body to touch another (like the side of one foot lying adjacent to the other) without triggering a cascade of overloading signals to my brain and bothering not just the skin of the offending parts, but my headache as well. Nothing I’ve tried (ibuprofen, ice, heat, lying down like a pancake, a dark room, a pillow over my head, the headphones, Benadryl, drinking water or tea, etc.) has helped to reset my threshold or reduce the sensory discomfort because it’s not really the illness symptoms that are bothering me so greatly; it’s the sensory issues screaming out with reckless abandon. It is hard to distract myself and divert my attention to something fun or engaging because if it alleviates one symptom, it aggregates another. For example, littering bags of frozen peas on all of the swollen joints around my body lessens the inflammation and provides temporary pain relief, but it irritates my sensitive skin so much that it feels like needles are being plunged into the surrounding tissues. Moreover, I seem to be unable to push through the fatigue into any reasonable level of productivity.

I am not pleased that this is a litany of complaints and negativity, but it is my reality, and it’s not productive nor honest to pretend that everything is fine when it’s not. I strive to be more positive but to maintain the integrity of this blog, I also share my tribulations and moments of mental weakness.

I’ve been here many times before; in fact, it happens nearly weekly, though normally for a truncated duration compared to this current affliction. Time is the only agent of improvement. The sole “solution” is patience and trying to stay calm. And so I wait, testing my inner strength to stay distracted and calm, exercising my resilience and physical tolerance, and stretching my hope that it’ll subside in the coming days.

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