Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong (shadesong) wrote,
Magical Truthsaying Bastard Shadesong

  • Mood:

Desperation of the 'song

docorion was holding me one night this past weekend. Just holding me. No sex. Just resting. And talking about things being difficult, movewise and bodywise.

And he said, "And you're scared that your time is running out. That you won't be able to catch up. And you're so scared to talk about that. And it's okay to talk about it."

And I bawled.

He's so right; I have *so* been holding that in.

I look at myself and know that, a year ago, I could have done $PROJECT. A year ago, I didn't need this much rest, this much scheduling.

I'm deteriorating.

I look at myself, my body, my mind, and I know that I am deteriorating, and that is fucking scary.

And I strongly feel that rest - that taking a fucking break - is the first step towards fixing it. That I need to catch the hell up.

And I can't do that until I live in Boston.

And I can't move to Boston til Adam gets a job there.

Which is completely out of everyone's control. Which everyone really fucking hates.

I need to catch up. I need to rest and catch up. And I need to be on less medication, which I can't do til I don't need to drive, and I'll need to drive til I don't need to work, which will be when? When we get to Boston. Because a big part of my problem = Too. Much. Medication. Medical Toxicity. It's not the epilepsy that causes the crippling fatigue and the brainfog and all of that. It's the medicine. I'm on the amount of medicine they'd give a 170-pound man...

But yes. This is why my desperation to be Out Of Here is accelerating. There's a lot more than you realize, at that light at the end of the tunnel.

And there is very much to fear here, and more every day.
Tags: epilepsy, moving
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