First, the part no one says out loud. This is not in your head.
You wake up and it feels like you got hit by a truck. Then the truck backed up and hit you again. Some mornings your legs feel like cracked glass, and your hands feel like someone is grinding chalk into your bones.
And the strangest part? You did not do anything. You feel like you helped a friend move all day yesterday, except it is every single day. You watch other people your age move freely and quietly wonder why no one else seems to feel the way you feel.
The morning jog you used to love now costs you three days of recovery. The climbing wall you have not touched in a year. The hikes, the runs, the things that used to make you feel strong and alive, you keep quietly crossing them off the list.
Then comes the part that wears you down even more than the ache: trying to explain it. To doctors who shrug and say your bloodwork is "normal." To the people you love who do not really get it. You start to feel alone inside your own body. You are not imagining this, and you are not being dramatic.






