Hacía mucho que no me daba por escribir en inglés. Perdón por las posibles patadas al diccionario que pueda haber. Por alguna razón y por mucho que algunos digan lo contrario la gramática inglesa y yo somos incompatibles (y mira que me jode).

Giving up

It had been an horrible day, one of those where nothing goes as it should and you end being blamed for eveything. At the end she had been so tired and fed up, she hadn't care about being blamed or not, she just wanted to go home.

The flat was quiet and empty, reminding her people in other places had those mitical things called free days and they could travel while she was was stuck in the city. Carefully and little by little she let go of the door she had been leaning at and walked to the dinning-room, grimacing slightly at the itchyness going through her body. It had become nearly painful hours ago, as if herskin thought having a headache thanks to her job wasn't enough.

She managed to reach the couch without collapsing and closed her eyes trying to block everything around her, even her body.
She knew she should get up to get her meds but she didn't know if she could do that effort. She was exhausted and fed up. She wondered if that was what she could expect for the rest of her days: good days when everything was alright, making her forget she had a cronic illness, mixed with bad ones when reality came crashing around her again in a ball of pain, meds and annoyance.
Saying it sucked what's an understatement.

She wondered why she was doing the effort, why she bothered, even if she knew her only other option was self-pity and hiding in a room for the rest of her days or until her friends or family came to tell her she was being stupid and overdramatic again and drag her out of her shell.

And she didn't want that. For the same reasons she tried not to complain anymore when she had a bad day and her counter had more meds than a terminal patient's. What was the point? The only thing that would help would be getting a cure and nobody could do that. That's what sucked about chronic diseases. You had to live through them feeling helpless. She couldn't make her friends feel that way too.
What was the point of making them suffer? She was suffering enough for all of them.

Sighing again she opened her eyes before going up to find the meds. Maybe if she could sleep for a few hours the day would end sooner.