3. The Exhaustion

I'm exhausted.

Having this body is exhausting.

When it gets the point where I haven't left bed for six hours because the Nurofen's out of reach, I know it's bad.

When it gets to the point where I have two anxiety attacks a day over finances and not knowing if I'll be okay this month, I know it's bad.

When my lower back is spasming every time I move into a sitting position, I know it's bad.

And when I completely miss a shift at work because of all of the above, well, I know it's even worse than I'd thought.


I hate it.

And I f*cking hate myself so much right now because on some level, I think that if I were just slightly stronger mentally and emotionally then maybe the physical symptoms wouldn't be so bad. Maybe I wouldn't be letting people down. Maybe I wouldn't be giving 80% to everything when I should be giving 110%. Maybe I wouldn't be writing this bloody awful, depressing blog posts every time I feel totally alone in this.

Because I am. Not one person in this world understands how this condition affects me daily. Not one person in this world knows how it feels to live this life, feel this pain, do these things.

"You're just writing this for attention."

No. I'm writing this because I'm sick of holding it in.

I'm sick of feeling like this.

I don't want to hear 'omg you're so brave' and 'you're so strong!!!111!!' because I'm not. And I know those words come from a well-meaning place but... really? Neither of those things are true. If they were, I wouldn't be writing this post to begin with, would I?

I feel like an absolute joke and somewhat of a waste of a human. And that's the honest truth. At least until I can have some more nurofen and go to sleep tonight.


It's too much for me today. It's just too much.



Time to go the doctor, I think.