#genetically incorrect

[theemparra]

I wish I was the same person I was years ago who still wanted children, the person I was before I got ill and didn’t get better.

I wish this hadn’t made me uncaring.

I wish pain hadn’t made me mean.

I wish this had extended my patience with people, not burned it to a crisp.

I wish I still actually wanted to have my own kids and bring them up to be cool adults that I’d want to be around.

But I don’t.

A few times a week with children for only an hour or two is all I can tolerate. I don’t want my own kids anymore. It wouldn’t be kind to them to have a grumpy, short-tempered mother.

Chronic illness just takes and takes and takes.

[theemparra]

My body has reached the point of being Not Actually Sick, but still like a very stressed machine, I feel it straining to keep it together.

My lymph nodes feel puffy, my nose feels dry and inflamed, my joints feel tired and loose, my head hurts, and I am very exhausted.

Maybe brining myself in hot salt and turning myself into human soup will help. Maybe it won’t.

Maybe I’ll fall asleep and drown. That’ll solve all the problems.

If I die, this’ll be a very awkward last post.

If not, I’ll be embarrassed about being dramatic later.