Fight to get out of bed. Fight to wake up in the first place. Fight the panic when I hear a knock on the door. Fight the guilt for having to tell my kiddo to come back and knock again in 15 minutes far too many times, in a desperate attempt to buy time to turn my anxiety enough to see him. Fight to leave my bedroom. Fight to go outdoors. Fight to muster the energy to work on anything. Fight the flood of grief from a loss never accepted. Fight the shame over all my inadequacies. Fight the horror of knowing there is so much more in me that I want to share with the world but my disease prevents me from even speaking aloud at times. Fight for any semblance of normalcy. Fight to hold on to the thinnest tendril of hope.
Fight to keep fighting.