I’m Too Tired to Snark

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My body and brain are fucking rude.

Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself...

Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself…

You see, I have a host of assorted physical and mental ailments, most of which aren’t ‘properly’ diagnosed. Because of them, I have limited functionality day to day, and alas, this even eats into my ability to be a snarkbot. Considering that I love being a snarkbot, I’m offended at myself. But yanno, doesn’t serve me any purpose to punch myself in the face, I’m working really hard to not do that. Believe it or not, I used to do it by default because I believed I deserved it. But that’s another story for another day.

What flickering hint of idea that this goes to is the whole not having ‘proper’ diagnoses for my issues. There’s a really good post about it on Tumblr, and well? I present so well (conditioning from growing up with narcissistic parents) that it is fucking hard to get anyone to take seriously that I am under any distress. I’ve been effectively crippled since I started high school, which also works against me in getting taken seriously; I’ve made it almost 20 years without help so I’m obviously getting by. No, I’m obviously very fucking good at faking it. I faked it through school… not well enough and was in constant shit for not ‘living up to my potential’ because me begging on my knees for an ADHD evaluation ended up with me being told I was making it up (underachievement being one of the big ADHD things). I had super-severe strep throat the week before high school started, after which I have been suffering with chronic fatigue since. Can you imagine being too exhausted to eat? Yeah, pretty common, yo.

Of course, those are two I just pick out of the hat. The chronic fatigue is probably due to endometriosis, which can only be diagnosed surgically. Even if I’m quite happy to let someone cut into me to check it out, the NHS is less amenable. Because it didn’t affect my fertility, they take it even less seriously. The closest I got to anyone looking at it, I was told to go try for a kid (as was planned), and then if I couldn’t get pregnant, then they would take a look. I got pregnant immediately. As I knew I would. Because it doesn’t affect fertility in my family.

So then, as said, the ADHD wasn’t diagnosed. It still isn’t diagnosed, though my psych is going to try again to get someone to evaluate me (and if not, I think she’s willing to toss meds my way, bless her). She’s a tiny bit holding back though because what if it’s because of bipolar rather than ADHD? Mind you, the two disorders are highly co-morbid, and there are about a million other things that are co-morbid with bipolar, but she’s willing to accept it’s there with the anxiety and the OCD. I don’t think we’ve ever discussed the dermatillomania, but as it’s extremely localised to my lips, she’s either noticed and not been worried. I don’t worry about it because it is soothing to me for some reason.

So anyways, the tl;dr is that my health is shit, but because I’m good at looking like I’m getting by if people don’t actually look at the reality, it’s only been recently that I’ve managed to be proactive in getting any of this shit sorted. And even with being able to take some things into my hands to try to make them better, that doesn’t change the line that my baseline is shit. Hell, I’ve been trying to get my head around writing this post for like, a week? Two weeks? When did I last post? It’s pretty fucking ridiculous how unfunctional I am if it requires the slightest bit of thought or movement (also, screw you spell-check, unfunctional is totally a word).

Oh well, at least when my brain is too fried to brain, there’s always Instagram? Hoderf, look at the purdy pictures.

Which is to say, I’m still around, just yanno… not with enough brainpower to think of anything clever. Sorry about that. But hopefully that Tumblr post is good brain fodder at least.

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