Life, Sort Of...

I had a self-defense instructor once tell me that the average person can engage in an all-out fight for thirty seconds. Somehow, I've been fighting this fight for over thirty years and I am so very, very tired.

I've dealt with suicidal ideation since my twenties, though Mommy Dearest told my long-distance bestie I had ended my life in freshman year. So, I guess you could say rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. 

I know I can mask myself into a fragile okay-ness, which I did with my one social event in weeks this morning. And I was already struggling with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria in the three block drive home from dropping my friend off. 

It only got worse when, immediately after I told my partner that, they asked for sex. I don't know why they chose that moment. But it has kept me further into a spiral than I thought I was going to get ever since. 

And then they went on about their day, doing exactly what they planned on doing, even though I certainly couldn't join now, because I'm so disabled at this point that my presence no longer makes any difference. 

If they were still working, if they could afford to take care of our dogs without my disability income, I wouldn't be here anymore. I don't want to keep fighting for an eighth of a life, for days full of nothing but fighting to get through two meals and a bath and six rounds of medication. 

I need these feelings to go away when my doctor changes my medications next month, I desperately need all of this to just be my thyroid or pain levels or something, but I'm not sure how much longer I can keep fighting for nothing. 

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