Sea sick or World sick?

I’m lying here in the dark, with the rain and wind knocking at the window, asking to be let in. My head’s spinning, and I can’t tell if it’s a stomach bug, a migraine, or something else entirely. The dizziness makes everything feel like a blur, like being seasick but with nowhere to steady myself. Maybe I’m world sick.

Tears slide down my face quietly, more out of frustration than anything else. Frustrated that my body has decided it’s not up to the task today. When I close my eyes, strange images drift in and out—a man I don’t know, a man who isn’t mine but whose presence feels comforting, as if our souls are shared dust. And then another image—a blade against my skin. No cut, no blood; just an echo of past pain. These thoughts don’t belong together, but they linger in the dark, fragments of something I can’t quite piece together. I wonder if the dizziness brought them on, blurring my thoughts the same way it’s blurring my senses.

And then, like an anchor, my sister-in-law’s words float to the surface: You’ve been longer with my brother than without. She’s right, and I feel a flicker of pride in that thought. I’m still here, beside a man I love deeply, weathering whatever comes our way. Even on days like this, when everything feels unsteady, I hold onto that, as if it could keep me grounded.

Outside, a sliver of daylight is creeping in, outlining the shape of the lamp above me. I don’t dare move. The world is already spinning enough. But maybe if I just close my eyes and empty my mind, I can drift off and let sleep take me. Maybe my body knows what it needs, and I just need to give it space to heal itself.

For now, I’ll surrender to the quiet, trusting that the storm will pass, and I’ll find solid ground again. Not sea sick, not world sick, just here. Breathing in the new morning air.