I have a headache. I don't normally suffer from headaches, but these days, all I could feel is the pounding sensation that my headache-prone patients never fail to describe to me: band-like, tightening, squeezing headache, like your brain's about to explode.
I sleep too much. I sleep too little. I eat excessively. I don't eat at all. I am a wanton do-it-all. I am too weary to care. This is how I am living my life at the moment-- to points of extreme. I don't even know how to write truthfully and coherently these days. If I could expel an ounce of honesty on this page, I would. I tried writing a cover letter the other day and found myself struggling to construct the next sentence after every full stop.
Maybe I have been inflicted with some sort of fatigue, but I don't think I am unhappy. Or sad. In fact, many of my friends have said I look remarkable happy: on Facebook messenger, over dinner, over Whatsapp, and over inconsequential meetings of felicitous liaisons. I couldn't have agreed more. I am in a place where I am doing what I love. Spain won the Euro 2012 (massive yay!). So why the ineffable exhaustion? Why the headaches that are pounding like the rain against my window pane? I am a doctor, yet I don't know my own afflictions.