Illness, a parabolic

"I am ill," she said. It was to no one in particular. Good. because as she looked up, no one was anywhere near her. With the wind blowing, even the distant people crossing the surrounding streets had no chance of hearing.
"I am very ill."
So she went in search of anyone willing to hear her account of her illness, the first trustworthy person who could stand to hear what she had to stay.
This was not until she had reached her plain job, unworthy of description, that she found such a victim. I was her co-worker, and not one she knew especially well, but the woman was sitting down in the break room, innocently biting into the cracking glazed flesh of a chocolate colored donut. The donut's end began threatening to drip custard just as the moment was interrupted by the tirade.
"I am so ill."
"So go home." She remained focused on the donut.
"No, I will only grow worse if I go home."
"Eh." It was more of a grunt, muffled by the continued ingestion of the donut.
"It is an illness brought on by thought and at home I do nothing but think. I must do something else with my mind before it is fully given over to illness."
"Uh, yeah."
"Oh, the thought of him makes me so sick, it makes me dizzy. It's like a flow of dizziness that drops out of my ribcage and spreads sharp stars everywhere. It make me unable to stand or think clearly or do anything useful!" She sighed in disgust.
"Oh," the woman said, startled. She set the donut down on it's wax paper, now thoroughly caked with sugar, chocolate and custard. She has almost managed to keep her face clear of the threat from the chocolate to stick to it, and she was making some effort to free her hands from their share of both chocolate and custard.
"I refuse to feel this way!" the account continued. "I refuse to love him. I want this illness to go away! I want to be hale once more!"
"Hale?" The donut was regaining its status of being of greater interest than the conversation, but it remained on the table.