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Facing reality….or, it could have been so much worse.

A note I posted on Facebook today:

For friends and family who don’t believe I’m sick, don’t understand why I have days I’d prefer not to be alive, and expect me to handle everything from work to social engagements to household chores the same way I did before getting sick, please read. It’s not going to happen, and empathy rather than judgment and lectures are in need right now. On top of it, I’m on multiple tranquilizers, and not sure there are not other heath issues at work. So, no, I can’t handle it, and I’m not the person I used to be. I probably never will be again. If you can’t deal, hit the de-friend button.

My roommate sees fit to lecture me about not taking the dog out early enough, when the fact is, I physically am unable to get out of bed before 12, thanks to a combination of whatever’s slowly killing me and the medications they have me on. Almost every time, he’s up, and could do it…but instead waits for me to do it, and then lectures me for making her wait.

In addition, I have a 4 PM deadline at work now, which often leaves me working from 12-4 without a break, taking some pills in the middle, and not even having lunch. They don’t cut me slack either; I miss a deadline, I don’t keep my job.

I wonder if I ended up in a wheelchair or went blind tomorrow, if everyone would yell at me for not pulling my weight or doing things on time.

I think maybe I need to leave town, because I am not getting the help and empathy I need to get through this in my current living situation. I don’t know where I’d find that; mostly, people could care less about me, much less take care of me. My parents would make me feel like shit for being sick and looking like shit, I’m not allowed at my boyfriend’s house, and people everywhere seem to wish I would die or disappear from their lives, and mince no words in telling me so. I don’t really *have* anyone to take care of me if I can’t take care of myself.

Breaking news: You all may just get your wish. Be sure to throw a party in my honour. I hope that some of my good friends will be willing to look after my dog, and give her the love and kindness she deserves. I hope that everyone will be extraordinarily kind and patient to The Guy I Am Currently Dating when I am no longer here, because he will need a friend and someone to take care of him, and the kind of support and understanding I found it so difficult to find once I became ill.

I just can’t continue on this way. The person I used to be, the one who loved life and had hopes and dreams and ambitions…that person is already dead. All that’s left is a shell that’s constantly judged, criticised, and made to feel inadequate on a daily basis for all her failures.

In my heart of hearts, I know I have limited time left on the earth. The doctors aren’t treating my symptoms, everyone’s telling me I’m crazy, but the body doesn’t lie. I have scary illness-related symptoms I have to deal with every day, involving my heart and my brain, and the only time I’m happy is when I am asleep.

I just want peace and love and understanding. I want someone to take care of me and hold my hand. Unfortunately, I didn’t create that kind of family for myself, and God knows I wasn’t born into it.

“In the end, only kindness matters.”

Thank you to those who have been kind to me during my life. You’re really the only reason I haven’t given up on life yet.

I’m starting to realise it isn’t enough, though. It isn’t a substitute for life and hopes and dreams and a healthy, vibrant person that was murdered this summer, and whom I realise will never return.

I am not the sort of person who deserves to be loved anymore, and I know that when I do leave the Earth, it will be alone and without drama or fanfare. Doctors will be perplexed, and say “We should have caught this”, but when you’re not wealthy and full of anxiety and anger and sadness, it’s easy to dismiss someone.

I am just a random person who fell through the cracks, who had one stroke of bad luck too many, and spent her whole life looking for a life filled with love and kindness and support and understanding; the family that never existed for me.

I am tired of struggling. I am tired of being made to feel inadequate. I am tired of being an imposition on a world that doesn’t understand. I am tired of an illness that nobody even acknowledges, but has robbed me of everything.

I am just tired. So, please, when I am gone, somebody take the dog out. And it would be awesome if you didn’t make me feel guilty for not being around to do it.

Maybe peace and love and understanding and kindness aren’t meant for people like me, not in the type of world we live in today, with the cards I’ve been dealt.

It could have been worse, this thing called life. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the idea it could have been so much better.

I’d give anything to be healthy enough to start over. I’d give anything to believe in dreams, and in a future. I’d give anything to know it won’t always be like this.

But 8 months has been 20 years, and I am tired…and so is everyone around me.

When I’m gone, I’ll have little to leave behind. But maybe, somehow, the years of love I put out in the world will be enough to mean something.

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