#sundrops

but when it comes to function—i feel like i've been trapped in a group project, and my group partner is the guy who sleeps through every single class, takes 2 business days to respond to a single message about the project, and actively prevents me from doing my work.

i have progressive crippling migraines, and i haven't had a day without a severe migraine in months. i have been stuck in my dark 10×10 room since may 3rd, leaving only for doctor appointments that can't be done virtually and one very short outing with friends that left me suffering badly at the end.

i never had this trouble with the chronic fatigue, or the graves disease, even when it left me using canes everywhere i went. but—

i haven't been able to play video games, really, since early march. haven't been able to make crafts since late march. haven't been able to go anywhere since late april. haven't been able to leave my room aside from things such as getting food or going to the bathroom, since the beginning of may.

today, one of the treatments for the migraines started kicking in, and on top of that it was a good day; i got almost 10 hours of sleep, two days in a row. i was able to play minecraft with my friends for hours.

i would have played until the migraines physically forced me to stop, from terrible vertigo. (i can tank pain. i can tank brain fog, i can tank distress; with meds, i can tank nausea.) i was like a starved animal, suddenly placed in front of food. i would've, did, gorge myself sick on it.

because i have no faith in my body to let me do this again any time soon. i should, considering i'm on new treatments, but i don't.

head spinning, i considered only bothering to get half a meal; the full thing is more effort, and i was being hit by every status effect at once. and then i half-consciously thought, "no, my body did good today. i should reward it with food."

and just—i wouldn't treat another person like that. i wouldn't treat a dog like that. i wouldn't treat a bug like that.

but my body has failed me so much, that it feels like i should get to fail it in return.

because it's not fair, that it does this to me and i still have to feed it, and clean it, and keep it the right temperature. it's not fair, that it locks me in a dark room with little to do for over a month and i still have to take care of it. it's not fair.

but to mistreat it like i instinctively want to do—half-assing feeding it, cleaning it, taking care of it—that way lies only the decaying orbit of suffering.