you know what I hate about having a permanent illness, both physical and mental, is the balancing act between looking after yourself and accepting the realities of living with illness. like, you know you should do the ‘right’ things like eating well and having a good sleeping pattern and whatever, but you also know that no matter what you do or how hard you try you’ll probably never be able to cure yourself. it just feels really cruel, like the constant guilt of ‘this is all my fault’ vs. the despondency of ‘what the fuck is the point’

















