I fucking hate tumblr, but I need to rant and I can’t do it on my usual outlets.
I’m fucking sick and goddamned tired of hearing “you don’t look sick” ‘you don’t seem disabled” but now I have 2 new ones! “Are you sure you qualify for disability because I don’t see it”
of course you can’t see the dead nerves, the misfiring nuerons in my brain, the muscle inflammation or the damage to my brain. I can ‘act’ fine most days but I’m tired of this. Unless you’re a goddamn doctor you don’t get to pass judgement. Just because I look fine and can function on a basic level, doesn’t mean I’m fucking fine.
Last night all I wanted to do was get in my truck and drive into a goddamn ditch, or take another handful of pills because Im fucking tired of living like this. I’m tired of being tired, I’m tired of being in pain and I’m goddamn tired of pretending to be fine. and I’m fucking tired of people thinking that they know better than my doctors and my body. you don’t.
my case wasn’t marked ‘critical’ because I’m well and fine. I didn’t lose my last 4 jobs because I’m fine. I didn’t spend two goddamn years training someone to take my job because I could continue to do it.
I didn’t have 6 employers submit statements, stating “she can’t work in any capacity’ because i’m able bodied.
I didn’t go from working 120 hour weeks to zero for ‘funsies’
I don’t dig blades into my skin because i’m ‘mentally stable’
sorry for trying to keep my problems from you, this doesn’t mean you can pass judgement.
I’ve been suffering, silently,- very silently so you don’t have to see it.
You don’t see me buried under blankets, crying into a pillow at 3 am because you’re sleeping and I’m trying to be quiet and no wake you. You don’t see me crawling up the stairs at night so I don’t fall and wake you.
you don’t see me spending hours online talking to therapists because I’m having a hard time dealing with this situation.
you don’t see that my hobbies bring me no enjoyment. You don’t. because I keep it from you, for a goddamn reason.
I don’t like anyone seeing how fucked up and broken I am, and the people who have were there- and awake when I hit my breaking points.
WHen I passed out in work meetings, on the job and during open consults. When I ran out to throw up bile since I hadn’t eaten in 3 days because my body is in such overwhelming pain that food won’t stay down. When I was found face down on the back steps of the booth I ran for 2 years or when I fell through those back steps. you didn’t see me throwing up from heat stroke at 9 am and then power through it until I was physically forced to lie down, screaming in pain in the room above my shop, in such a bad way my own brother freaked out and called up the second in command. You didn’t see my boss bring in 3 more people TO DO MY JOB so I wouldn’t be overwhelmed and could focus on paperwork. Eric Logan, as much as he is a wanker, went out of his way, and paid out of his own pocket to make sure I could have one final year at the booth I called home. He looked the other way when I couldn’t handle a shop full of customers, he looked the other way when I had to take a 30 minute break for every 20 minutes of work I did. He instead, put me a project that I can make my own schedule for.
You didn’t see when Jack and I got into a knock down drag out fight triggered by each of our PTSD @thetriggererman had a front row seat. He’s seen me fall, freak out, break mirrors, he saw what I used to be capable of, and what I can no longer do. He was there the nights I went blind, the nights i’ve thrown up for hours on end, and the nights I cried out of pain and exhaustion. They were few and far between, and it took longer than 3 weeks for him to see it. And he only saw it because my disabilities were taking over-and that’s the onyl reason he was brought on to help me in the first place, because of medication I’m at high risk for seizures and couldn’t do a specific job without assistance. then more jobs came in that I couldn’t do on y own. it snowballed.
You didn’t see the morbid episode at gamestop when courtney bitched about a rubber band snap to which I retaliated by slicing open my palm with a box cutter with a bland face, looking her in the eyes and telling her I still felt nothing.
you don’t know that the scissors in my bathroom are not for hair, but for flesh, and how many times I’ve refrained from using them. You wouldn’t see if I did anyway.
You’ve spent three weeks around me. you took my dizzy pain spells for ‘needing sleep’ and I didn’t correct you because I didn’t want you to worry.
you won’t see this rant either. because I won’t put it on facebook, and I won’t say it to your face, because you’re too much like your grandpa, and you don’t like that and I don’t want to compromise my living situation.
but you are just like my dad, your grandpa, and I’m sorry you didn’t get to know him and I know you’re sore about that and I am too, but stop with the “stevens judgement”
Jesse, message me when you see this. please.
