Is it really worth all the damn effort to keep me alive?
That's the dopamine depletion talking. And acetalcholine deficiency. And autoimmune disease. And all of the other things that are slowly degenerating my brain.
I don't ask that question often, but when I do, it consumes everything.
I am generally a very functional depressed person. I go through the motions, maybe with a slight background hope that being productive will make me feel useful. Worthy. But mostly I go through them numb. Even if they don't make me feel better, they are things that need doing.
Some of my health puzzle pieces are falling into place. And when I find pieces that fit, it gives me hope. Until I get a long stretch of no pieces. Just chaos. A 5000 piece puzzle and I've got a corner, a short edge, and a small blob or two in the middle. Sometimes I find a doctor that is curious and enthusiastic enough to sit down and try to piece a few together. But it seems that eventually they lose interest. I can't blame them. I do too.
I'm not sick enough to raise the alarm system of the western medical model. I don't trust many of their treatment methods anyway. I'm definitely sick enough to not be able to cure it on my own. It's a maddening limbo. I'm reliant on brilliant "alternative" practitioners that my insurance won't cover. I'm reliant on favors, and what little I can pay for, and piecemeal care. I'm forced to be my own advocate- which means I'm forced to rely on someone who often doesn't care, and cares far too much, and is too exhausted or anxious to even have a phone conversation much of the time. In the meantime, my symptoms come and go. Some days are good, and some bad. But find me on a bad day, and with tears jamming my throat, I'll tell you honestly- sometimes I wonder if it's worth all the damn effort.
This post is far too negative. I shouldn't even be writing it. But I'm nothing if not honest. Shoulds and shouldn'ts be damned, this is how it feels today.