I'm Living Death

The knees are the first to know. Not all at once, not dramatically — a shiver of gravity beneath my soles, a tremor my mind insists is nothing. Fingers twitch as I reach for coffee. The floor wavers imperceptibly. Words smear on the screen. Chest presses inward, breath shallow, pulse jagged and too fast. Others move normally. I wobble. I falter.

Coffee warms my hands; water rests on the table, a fragile anchor. Each step, rise from a chair, lift of a pen — a negotiation with a body quietly rebelling. Shoulders tighten. Eyes flicker to door, clock, screen. Micro-pauses, micro-decisions.

Morning stretches into a labyrinth. Tremor, pulse, dizziness, digestive twinges, breathless pauses — each meticulously tracked. Each measurement a lifeline, never a promise. Room wavers. Air hums too sharply. Thoughts fragment mid-sentence; syllables collapse. Pulse jumps. Hands tremble. Thought fractures.

Sleep offers no mercy. Nights lengthen unnaturally. Limbs spasm in silent panic. Dreams mirror reality — stairs wobble, floors flow, gravity teases chest. Waking feels like negotiating with a body already insubordinate. I lie awake, counting beats, inhalations, hours. Edge of exhaustion softens into temporary surrender. Stop. Now. Breathe.

Doctors provide numbers: blood pressure, heart rate, hormonal panels — each reading within range. I nod, thank them, leave. They are not wrong, only incomplete. Lived experience is micro-fissures in rhythm, hidden betrayals, body whispering slow erosion of stability. Metallic taste. Tingling fingers. Spine chills.

Weeks blur into months. Rituals emerge: measured breathing, slow walks, journaling, hydration, scheduled breaks. Each strategy a fragile defense, each action a translation of body-speech. Some mornings, tilt is absent; others, it returns, insisting on attention. Survival becomes pattern recognition. Awareness a constant companion.

World moves on. Colleagues laugh, commute, type, speak. I navigate a parallel system, negotiating every tilt, tremor, heartbeat. Fear hums constantly — subtle, insistent — whispering that chronic stress and subclinical autonomic dysfunction precede illness.

Even the smallest decisions feel amplified: pouring water, lifting a book, stepping into sunlight. Each micro-action tests pulse, balance, obedience. Observation leads to response. Micro-adjustments accumulate. Nutrition, sleep hygiene, pacing, professional guidance — levers to prevent tilt escalating into collapse. Journals thick with victories and near-misses.

I am not healed, not “fixed.” Vigilant. Yet vigilance does not mean despair. Inch by inch. Heartbeat by tremor. I have learned to listen deeply, act early, recalibrate, survive. Days blur; minutes stretch like elastic. Present, yet absent — witness to a body that no longer trusts itself.

The tilt comes and goes. Some days I feel whole. Some days betrayal flickers in an instant — subtle, insistent. If you notice it too — jitter, pulse, tremor before collapse — do not wait. Listen. Seek professional guidance. Heal before sub-health becomes illness.

–––

These stories aren’t rare.
They’re just rarely told early enough.
Most decline begins in silence —
a skipped check-up, a cough you dismiss, a breath you pretend is fine.

He didn’t need saving.
Just a warning sooner.

––– Pause Here –––

If this feels familiar, you’re not alone.
Most illness doesn’t start with a bang.
It starts when silence becomes habit.

Lingzhi isn’t a miracle.
It’s a habit.
A quiet, daily way to care for the body —
before silence becomes suffering.

Advisory
Lingzhi is a traditional food, long used to support balance and general well-being.
It is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease.
Individuals with existing medical conditions or those taking medication should consult a qualified healthcare professional before use.

#SubHealthStories #HealthIsAHabit #HappyHealthyLingzhi

https://www.facebook.com/LingzhiHappyHealthy