38. Delirium

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

It was two days ago. Maybe three. Kids were at school, and I had just taken the antibiotics. My breath shallow and rapid. I was staring at the ceiling, but your image was to my side. I turned to you. “Go away,” I whispered.

After 48 hours of sweating sickness, my stench was unbearable. My curly hair standing as branches in all directions, stonified. You said nothing, just inched closer.

I was numb. Life seems a duty again, but I could not stop looking at you. Think I was delirious with the fever, or was it a harmless daydream? Either way, I tried to push you away. “You don’t exist,” I whisper. “You are not real.” Because believing you are real when I am this low and alone is just… incomprehensible. Too painful.

You still have not said a word. Instead, your hand found the back of my head, and you smashed your lips on mine in a searing kiss. I push you off, “Insane!” I got off the bed on shaking legs and headed to the shower. You chased me into self-care. Again.

Today, I still struggle to feel myself. My essence. My place in time and space. It is both liberating, as there are no things to do or manage, just to survive, to breathe, to lie down and heal. And it is emptying my soul too. I am an empty space with no agenda. No goal or purpose, no future or plan.

Tomorrow will come. Come soon. I will have to think again. To chase again. To decide what to fight first again. But today, today I am still floating. And somehow, you barely exist here in this space. You are too earthy, too real to exist in this space of suspension.

Oh, I don’t know if I make any sense. I wanted to tell you that even though I cannot feel you, or anything for that matter, at this moment, you do not let go. You are not like any other dream I’ve ever had. You do not leave, even when I no longer want you. Stubborn. Possessive. Even your spirit alone is permanent. It’s comforting and alarming at the same time.

And yet, today, after the hard slap of reality and disillusionment of the latest health saga, the world seems cold, unyielding and hopeless. What is the chance that you exist? Will you ever read this? What is the chance that I will break the chains I am in? The future seems pitch black and… just not worth the trouble.

Tired. So tired. I am tired of fighting the black veil of this earth. I am tired of keeping the forward plow. I am an Ox, sure, but maybe this Ox wants to sit in this muddy field and sink slowly into the mud, numbly sinking to its death. Depression is high today.

This. This is why I never stop. This is why I am always in motion. Because stopping means feeling this. Fighting this. And I am so tired. I so don’t want to fight.

Sure, I am not blind. I have seen the good on the side of the bad: the kids were amazing. Warriors. I raised them this way. They survived because I taught them how to. And they did it as a unit.

And the people who came to help: The neighbour who bought us a week’s worth of groceries, the other neighbour who came to help put Piggy to sleep when everything collapsed, the guy from the kids’ religious program who came with food when he heard, the social worker from Drago’s school who went to the food bank for us, the social worker from Stallion’s and the girls’ school who brought food and a bag full of toys and crafts for the kids.

I see it. I see it all. And most of it, if not all of it, was possible because I invested time and care in building the connections. But I am tired. So very tired.

How can I explain to you the complete exhaustion that comes over you when your plans succeed? The feeling that it all went as you predicted, that your plans and strategies worked, but now, exhausted, you need to start rebuilding the dam again for the next flood. And I so don’t want to.

I am a total drag today, I know. 
I cannot help it. 
I will write again tomorrow. 
Yours, 
Oxy. 
April 18, 2026

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?