Stupid body is playing us up again. We have periods of remission, where we don’t feel too bad, but even then, our version of not too bad would probably put most people in the hospital! We’re just used to it now. But when the body relapses, it’s hell on earth.
We feel dreadful. We’re so weak it’s pathetic, we have no energy, we’re physically shaky coz our muscles don’t work, and we can’t breathe very well. Oh, and every time we eat it’s like being stabbed in the stomach with a pointy stick. Pain levels are spiking up pretty high. We’re also dizzy and lightheaded as fuck, which makes sitting up a trial. All of this combines to make the depression and anxiety rise to crippling levels, and all we want to do is curl up in bed and whimper. As it is, the only reason we can get out of bed is that we have a recliner chair in front of the computer downstairs, so we can recline, surrounded by pillows. It just feels like the body is shutting down on us, and there’s nothing we can do about it but hope it doesn’t.
Most of the littles are refusing to come out, and who could blame them? A lot of the adults who were around in 2002 are staying inside too. That was the year we fell ill so badly, and we were bedbound for 12 months, sure we were slowly dying. Turns out we probably were. Pancreatitis, liver failure and emergency surgery will do that to a person. It took us forever to get back on our feet. Feeling like that again will trigger a lot of people to run for the hills.
There was this one ward of our local hospital that always treated us good. We were in and out of there at least once a week, for months. They knew us, and looked after us, and we felt safe there. I keep finding myself lying in bed, longing to just go back there again. Thing is, there’s no going back. The hospital was knocked down and rebuilt a couple of years ago. So I’m longing for a safe place that doesn’t exist anymore. That makes me sad.
On top of all of this, we’re losing our house, and we’ve just found out that the local housing authority won’t rehouse us until this place is actually sold. So we have to physically be homeless, with the kids, before they’ll help us. We’re seeing the Homeless Team today to see if there’s anything they can do for us. Potential homelessness is fucking terrifying. Stress makes the M.E. worse too, which isn’t helping. We could be out on the streets in less than 4 months time. How the hell are we supposed to deal with that?
Sometimes it all gets too much, y’know?