I don’t even know how to begin this post. I am tired of being tired. I’ll start there. 17 years. Seventeen years. Maybe it doesn’t sound like a long time. I don’t know. Skin that burns in the sun, genetic blood disorder that causes organs to fail if iron levels get too high, autoimmune disease that causes food to act like tiny attackers as well as a host of other issues, virus that flared every bone in my body to pain, and then finally, the diagnosis of perpetual pain without a cure.
So tonight, my invisible disease friends, my brethren who look young, happy, normal and perfectly fine on the outside, but are dying on the inside daily, I wish you patience. Because I know that I need it in my life and lack it. I lack the ability to find anything remotely nice to say some days and can’t seem to help it. Today is one of those days. It is one of those days I wish everyone I come in contact with, I could touch like some sort of cool X-Men power and they would feel what I feel. Everyone.
People who sound frustrated with me because of my questions don’t realize that I have to plan everything out according to my level of pain. I have spent the last year weighing what was most important and trying to do that first. I would like them to know how I feel on any given day. People who ask me questions even though I have explained everything and sent them copies of things to read, yet ask me the same thing, they need to know that stresses me out. Lastly, people who don’t have their stuff together, yet expect me to. They stress me out.
I would give all of the above people a good ole’ magical touch. How do you like me now? Oh. You get it now? Okay then.
This ridiculous rambling tonight was brought on by the letters W, T, H.