It’s been 15 days since herpes zoster—shingles—hit me, and I can barely put into words what it feels like. My body feels like it’s on fire, my skin crawls with blisters, and my nerves scream every moment of the day. Medicine and cold packs numb me for a while, but as soon as their effect fades, the burning claws right back in. It feels endless, unbearable, like I’m trapped inside a body that has turned against me.

What makes it worse is not just the pain—it’s the loneliness. Though I have a lot of support of people on call and message, but this is a disease is where you crave love, care, and a comforting hand, but you can’t have it. You can’t let anyone near you, can’t risk giving them this nightmare. I’ve longed for a hug, just simple warmth, but this disease makes you cautious, though its not contagious, but for the one near me, I don’t know their stress level, emotional level and immunity levels. I feel like a prisoner in my own body, cut off from love at the very moment I need it the most.

The nights are the hardest. I lie awake in the dark, shifting, turning, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel like knives are digging into me. Sleep mocks me. Tears come often—sometimes from the pain, sometimes from the sheer exhaustion of holding it all together.

And yet, I didn’t stop working. As that kept mind distracted for the time I worked and also my job is my only security, and with markets changing, even that feels fragile. So I sit at my desk, pretending to be fine while my body is on fire inside. Nobody sees the truth—that every click, every mail, every word I type is written through pain. While giving pressure to team on calls, after every call, I had to take deep breathes as pain killed me to core.

I’ve asked myself why this happened. Doctors say stress lowers immunity, and yes, my life has been nothing but stress—loneliness, pressure, survival. Spiritually, I feel my body is crying out because of blocked energy. My heart chakra, where love and connection flow, feels sealed shut, I am just mongering with insecurity. My solar plexus, where strength and power lie, feels drained dry. Maybe herpes zoster is my body’s desperate scream, a cry I can no longer silence. A scream that says, “Enough!” Enough pretending to be strong when I am breaking inside. Enough burying wounds that still bleed in silence. Enough running like a machine, just to survive, while my soul is starving for love, rest, and peace. This pain is not just illness—it is my body’s way of begging me to finally stop, to feel, and to heal.

But how do you stop when life doesn’t stop for you? Bills don’t stop. Responsibilities don’t stop. And loneliness certainly doesn’t stop.

Fifteen days in, the pain is still here. Some days I wake up angry at my body for betraying me. Some days I feel numb. Some days I just cry because the longing for someone to care, someone to sit beside me, feels bigger than the illness itself.

I don’t know how long this nerve pain will last. They say weeks, months, maybe longer. But what I do know is this: herpes zoster has stripped me bare. It has shown me how fragile I am, how lonely I truly feel, and how dangerous it is to keep pushing myself without love, without rest, without healing.

To anyone reading this—if you’re going through something similar, please remember: you are not alone. Your pain is real, your emotions are valid, and your healing will come. Listen to your body when it whispers, so it doesn’t have to scream. Allow yourself rest, seek help if you can, and don’t be ashamed of your struggles. The one’s who really care for you will come for help, they will stand by you and make sure that they never make you feel unheard and ignored.

Illness has a cruel way of wrapping us in loneliness, making us feel forgotten, and invisible. But please believe me when I say—you are still worthy of love, of care, of being held gently in someone’s heart. You are not your pain, you are not your disease; you are a soul that deserves compassion in every breath. I whisper this to myself every day, through the tears and the silence, and I want to whisper it to you too.