Pieces Of Flare

It's hard to make good words.  I've only had two migraine med days this first week of December, and if that trend holds it would make for the best numbers of the year!  But I'm becoming less functional which is of course infuriating.  *deep and lovely breaths as I search for and finally find the goddamn asterisk*  I guess, since Sasha is doing better and going in for her much delayed trigger point injection in two days, it's as good a time as any to ME/CFS flare.  I do hate that our household is such a complex machine with so many fragile and breakable parts.  This is a terrible design.  I object.

I lost my shit on the sperm donor who sleeps in my closet tonight.  Thing Two needs us to grow food and I cannot grow food.  It is beyond my energy capacity.  He will face my wrath and panic attacks if he can't figure out how to grow potatoes of any worth.  He will either prove his value by doing this thing or I will likely drive him out of this house and he will become homeless again.  May the odds be ever in his favor, amen.  Incidentally, he also still needs to do his 2019 taxes.  It's almost 2021.  We are not impressed with his complete and utter lack of initiative. 

I meditate a lot.  I'm not really sure how to manage a flare.  Another flare.  Every moment in time is new, a new physical place in the universe, and we have not much semblance of routine which is itself unavoidable and also taxing.  I just hope this flare doesn't get too bad.  I anticipate it won't [o god please] if I ice the relevant muscles, keep meditating, and try really really hard to not overdo things, knowing full well that I'm flaring again.  I...I just wish I weren't managing alone.

We live with my mom and my ex sleeps in my closet, so I'm not physically alone, but I manage ALL OF THEM regarding everyone's ailments and schooling and primary human person raising, and no one advocates for me.  I'm too sick to play music anymore which to put it mildly, is a total bummer.  And what generally keeps me going in life beside that is friendship and camaraderie.  So three strikes, I am way out.  For as helpful as having plans and goals are, this sure seems like a dead end too.  Like, what can be done?  Of the adults in this house, I am the NOT neurodivergent one, and the others seem to lack the ability to do emotional labor in the areas where I could sure use help.  They also refuse to go to therapy.  Oh fucking well.

I think when I quit the blog, I wasn't ready to put that into words, the fact I'm going to slowly wear myself out and then die early, sick, and alone.  Now that I've had about a year and a half of hell and torment to have that put into perspective, I guess there are worse things.  Like being a fucking disease spreading white supremacist anti-masker, anti-vaxxer.  I must go watch Schitt's Creek now, and rejuvenate what pieces of my spirit I can find.