When I’m feeling okay, my life is very manageable.
I do my work. I take care of my dog. I have a relationship. I pay my bills. The end.
I just need help. I need help staying awake. I need help scheduling my specialist appointments. I need help figuring out if I should be getting a C-T Scan or I should be continuing antibiotics even though that means we can’t do a culture now to see if I actually have an infection–or if I’m just getting really bad TMJ?
And if I can’t get help with that..
Then I need help living my life. Grocery shopping and cleaning and walking the dog. Oh–and then I’m going to need help not feeling the worlds guiltiest fiance/daughter/friend who will barely have energy to direct the show, let alone contribute to it.
And honestly? It’s not a “pity thing.” I’t’s not a “I feel bad for myself because I’m sick and it’s hard thing.” It’s a “trying to take responsibility for my life with chronic illness and having no earthly idea HOW I’m supposed to organize this in a way that works with the resources I have, doesn’t make me broke, and stays a step ahead of my immunodeficiency thing.”
So…fuck it. I’m eating chicken salad and taking a nap. Happy, you handle this!
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