Will I ever give in?

The wonders of turning on the light when in darkness. I've not really understood why I push myself to do more when I know I absolutely need and often want to be resting, everything in my worn out body is begging me to stop and stay put but I push on regardless. Growing up, or rather being dragged up by my short and curlies, I was never believed to be ill unless I was ill enough for a doctor to be called (and not actually drunk on mother's sherry which would have been ever so embarrassing had she called the doctor, which she almost did. I was 8). I recall, when in my most defiant years of teenhood whitening my face and darkening my eyes to appear as I felt in order to get the TLC I needed, which mostly consisted of a day in bed, in perfect solitude mopping my own brow, my idea of rock and roll at a time when I couldn't breathe without mother's dramatic flip outs at some other wrongdoing I'd unwittingly done to her. So it occurred to me as I heavily lay in bed since around no, not awake at 3 am again and resigned to knowing that I am now well and truly sapped of any will to push myself beyond the loo, I will be permissibly doing fuck all today and that instead of remaining in my pj's unshowered and perfectly relaxed and willing to spend the day submerged in restfulness yesterday I felt a tight pull to tidy myself and not only go out but stay out way beyond my health permitted, popping painkillers to quiet the throbbing reminders of what a bloody fool I am, that return to childhood I make time and time again as if I've not been punished enough. I have made this connection previously but I guess the story never ends until we are ready to gracefully submit.