Wolf hour

It is passed 01:00, and I still can´t sleep. The prednisolone has made me a nocturnal animal. Tears are streaming down my cheecks. Theres a little burn as they run through the rash that has begun to spread down the bridge of my nose. The skin feels tight, sore and dry. A dark loneliness has filled the bedroom and is pussing my head deeper and deeper into the pillow. Maybe it would have been better if I just died now? Go out with a bang instead of slowly but surely fading away in sickness and loneliness? The wolf hour is about to tighten it´s grip. 

Deep, deep down, at the core, I know it will eventually be ok. That the feeling of being broken and damaged will pass. I will feel better soon. But with the lack of sleep and the wolf hour seeping in, I am overwhelmed by this vast feeling of hopelessness. It's like the power of the wolf hour is intensified by the prednisolone. It spreading like a dark tough, goo and seeping into the most vulnerable places, where it can do the most harm.

"Your heart is going to get sick and stop," it whispers. "But you do not need a heart, because no one will ever love you. How could anyone love you now? You are sick, ugly, old. You will die soon, all alone in great agony." The ugly voice won´t let go. "You want children? Forget about it. You don´t deserve to be a mother. Your horrible pool of genes should die along with you"

​Ironically, lupus means wolf in Latin, and tonight it´s trying to eat me alive from within. I hope it will loose some of it´s energy soon..