ill actually be able to go to bed

I think maybe my least favorite part of chronic illness is how much time you spend in limbo. Obviously the good days are good days, and the thing is that the worst days are when you can implement your emergency measures - take your pain pills, get in bed and call the whole day a wash. It’s a done deal. 

But most days are in between, spent sitting and waiting to see if you’re going to be able to do anything or if you’re going to have to give up. You can’t just give up every day, and you actually get really fucking tired of lying in bed doing nothing, but you can’t just will yourself to have a good enough day to be productive. You can try to advance on a task, see if you’re capable, only to find yourself on the brink of collapse, maybe even hurting your health because you so much as tried to do something. 

So then you go back to spending your 10,000th hour in bed or on the couch waiting for something to change. It’s really, really boring. 

massive trigger warning - rant

mental illness isn’t fucking romantic, when will people learn
crippling severe anxiety didn’t make me shy & cute, it made me throw up & cry & not not be able to go outside, because I was so scared of everything.
depression never made boys love me, instead it pushed every single person I cared about away.
my eating disorder didn’t make me look good, it made me so tired I couldn’t get out of bed. It made me hate myself more than I ever thought possible. It made me pass out, it made me weak, it ruined my skin, my hair. I still can’t look at food because of it.
cutting my skin wasn’t something to get attention it was something I tried so fucking hard to hide because I was ashamed, needing stitches, doing nerve damage, not being able to fully use my arm wasn’t something I ever fucking wanted to do
Trying to kill myself isn’t something you can just romanticise
Get it through your fucking heads