Empathy |
So I lay down and went to sleep. I slept, more or less, right through 12 hours, until 8 a.m. this morning, when the cats wanted breakfast. I forced myself out of bed, because I needed to the loo mostly, to feed them and get my own breakfast. Even though I didn't really want to eat, I knew hunger would make the symptoms worse. Besides, I've had 15+ years practice at forcing food down me, even when I feel dreadfully nauseous. Most people wouldn't. I did this as quickly as possible, so I could get back to bed, because I feel absolutely crap.
As well as general malaise and unbelievably awful level of nausea, today I'm shaking like someone who's had too much caffeine (I haven't); I ache in muscles, bones and joints; I feel like I have the flu (I don't); I have a feverish headache and I can't even sit up in bed, because I don't even have the strength to support my own head. Any stimulus, including noise, makes it worse. I need the light in the room to be relatively dim. The only way I can keep the desire to throw up down to just bearable, is to not move, so all I can do is to lie as still as possible.
But my mother didn't like it because I did not respond enthusiastically to her as she was wittering on about something that had absolutely no relevance to me - that she'd burst into my room uninvited to do. She thinks I'm rude and wrong for not being interested in this and storms off in a huff, slamming the door loudly, as though she's been affronted. It's not the first time, by far. She knows what I have wrong with me. I've given her enough literature that, by now, she must have a fair idea of the general symptoms. She certainly knows that my symptoms NEVER go away, but can get worse. It doesn't even occur to her that I might be feeling too ill to be interested. Narcissists and psychopaths lack empathy.