Psychic Degeneration

I have often spoken about spiritual or emotional regeneration in previous posts. But lately I have been confronted with another harsh reality. My physical self is falling apart at the seams. I believe I have isolated the root of the problem, but it is much more complex than that. In some strange, twisted irony of fate, I actually feel worse at night, when my body is supposed to be at its peak. I oscillate between two extremes. One finds me shivering under layers of sheets, the other sees me stripped down to the bare essentials but still burning. Let's not forget the 'tween times when I feel physically cold, but find myself sweating. I can't make any sudden movements, so fights are beyond me at the moment. Rising too quickly from my diurnal resting place unbalances me quite literally. I cannot walk more than fifteen steps without stumbling. All of which point to the disturbing truth that my body is, in fact, degenerating. Even as I type, an ugly headache threatens to overwhelm me. Ill as I am, I managed to keep in touch with some contacts of mine, although my own sense leads me to believe the truth was clouded in favour of my feelings. I wasn't particularly inclined to forcibly demand honesty, considering that I could barely walk unsupported, but my mental defences were in overdrive. Needless to say, this particular contact was in every position to inflict great harm upon me, should she have wished to do so. Even though technically, that circle of influence remains broken. I played my part well, and the only reference to my illness came at our moment of parting. I look like hell, and two days have already robbed me of the zest I am so well known for. The fierce fever is held in check by my own desire to join him, and if I cannot recover by week's end, I know I will have lost more than the battle for my health. I have carefully evaluated my every move with this mark, but while I was indisposed, several leaks appeared. Time will tell if he has been tipped off, for I am in no condition to monitor his movements. If he has...well, maybe my failing health is symbolic of my dying humanity, the very same compassion that scarred me with false pretences and silly preconceived notions of love and romance. My contact was all too eager to discuss my efforts in tracking him, which immediately raised red flags in my mind. When caught up in such dealings, it is not uncommon to find double agents playing for both teams. I was initially amused at the incompetence displayed, and then insulted. I am sick, not mentally handicapped. The illness will pass with enough sun and rest. Her transgression will not. This mark is mine, as it always has been. Perhaps I'm a little bit slow to bare my fangs, but as long as I can trace him, there is every chance I'll finish the job. The illness is like a wave, it comes and goes, and right now it's high tide for me. Therefore I believe I will retreat to my corner and sleep the rest of the day away. The night is mine.
Carpe noctem.