The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a heavy weight pressing against the blinds. Elias stared at the ceiling, the familiar patterns of the plaster mocking him. He should be up, dressed, at work. He should *want* to be. Instead, inertia held him captive. He finally dragged himself upright, the simple act a monumental effort.
He shuffled through the motions of his morning routine, each step a tedious chore. Toast remained uneaten, coffee lukewarm. At the office, his gaze drifted through the window. The cityscape, usually a symphony of activity, now blurred into a meaningless hum.
Later, at a support group for people with chronic pain, a woman with a kind face approached him. “You look… like a person who’s spent too much time underwater,” she said gently, her eyes full of understanding. “Do you get the headaches, too?”
“Headaches?” Elias managed, his voice raspy. He hadn't bothered to take a painkiller.
“And the light sensitivity? The… overall feeling of being disconnected from everything?” She listed the symptoms. He felt a flicker of surprise; her words were uncannily accurate. They spoke for hours, a shared silence broken by the comfort of knowing he was not alone. They both had FibroDis, a condition so rare doctors barely knew about it, yet it was so familiar in their lives.