I’ve spent the past 36 hours in my bed, reading, eating, writing, letting the world happen outside and online without taking a look at it. My hair is a mess of unruly curls that I can’t bother to get right and I’ve been wearing the pajamas that’ll probably still hug my body tomorow evening. A vacation for my soul. It feels good.

It feels good but inside is a turmoil of pain and anger that I listen to, take note of, and then try to drown so I can breathe a little in the middle of the novel serie that I’ve been reading. I’ve been to the bottom of it, found its roots, but the anger still remains. The pain has its rightful place this time. It is not without cause. Not without consequences.

There is a difference between what feels good and what is healthy. And I’ve been sick for a while now, only noticing how fast my mind and my heart deteriorated in the last week or so. This is what this vacation is about. I need to take care of myself.

I think a week or two of this three-days regime should do wonders for my soul, as long as I cure the source of the disease. I can’t say for sure that it will bring me to full health, but it’s a step that can’t be ignored if I ever want to find myself again.

Until then, I’ll stay in bed and take all the time I need to heal. This is what days off are for.

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