Another thing I realized when living alone. The thing I was fearing.
Becoming sick, when you’re by yourself.
You’re bedridden and you can’t get up, you’re hot, sweaty, eyes tearing, head pounding and you still have to get up in the morning to make yourself a cup of tea. I basically spent the last two days rolling around in bed because I couldn’t do it myself.
If it wasn’t for my floormates I think I would’ve camped out in my room, with chips and hot water. I got food without leaving my room, warm honey water, and lotion, soft tissues.
Even though I still feel pretty bad, and miss having my mother take care of me, I think this is another milestone that one has to cross as they grow up. Who wants to be under their mother’s/father’s wing, and who really is going to run home the moment they get the sniffles.
My mother called and asked how I was, and mocked me if I wanted to come home, and when I said no, she said good, if you’re gonna be on your own, you have to do it right. (though she did keep texting/calling to see how I was.)
I’m sure it’s much harder on them then it is for me. But at the end of the day, you have to get up and take care of yourself.