"Having observed that I have all my life acted more from the force of feeling than from my reflections, I have concluded that my conduct has depended more on my character than on my mind, after long struggle between them in which I have alternately found myself with too little intelligence for my character and too little character for my intelligence." - Giacomo Casanova, History of my life Vol. 1

Sunday, March 18, 2018

#Ican'tkeepquiet



Before we begin I want to prime you all with a song I am claiming as my new anthem. Listen to it before you read the post below. You're going to need a bit of a boost getting through this one because it is heavy. There are so many triggers that I'll probably miss a couple if I try to declare them. I'm just going to say guys, if you aren't chill right now please for the love of god don't read this post. But if you're rocking some extra spoons, hit it.

BTW:Verse 2 is particularly important to me right now.




KEEPING SECRETS:


Whenever I talk about the struggles I face I begin the whole business by considering what the truth will cost me.

I look at you, the person I'm talking to and I think to myself : If I tell you this truth, will it help me save my life, or will it make it harder for me to survive? The result of this decision determines what I reveal to you, and I begin to carefully redact parts of my reality from you so that you are not a threat to my life. This reality, that my authenticity is a threat to my life, is something I feel others simply do not understand. I'm here to try to persuade you that however beautiful vulnerability and authenticity...there are things that are raw and deadly in that truth that you are not all always ready to face and so before you judge my decision to keep things to myself....listen.

Mental health stigma is a reality. Your response to this document will be determined by the degree of stigma you apply to me. Even the best of you whom I love. Sorry guys. Truth talk time. I am CONSTANTLY being judged, even by the BEST of my supporters. I am not blind. And frankly it's ok. I don't actually expect anything else. It's just the way the world works. We are all blinded by our own narrow experience of reality and doomed to mistake OUR truth for UNIVERSAL truth. It's a cultural thing, I think. I forgive ya'll

"How melodramatic! How unethical! How Paranoid!You must be mentally ill..." a number of you are thinking right this moment.

"I know exactly how your feel. You're not the only one. I wish I could speak to someone..." another number of you are thinking.

I suspect most of you are also thinking... "Where is she going with all of this? What is she doing?"

And the truth is, I don't actually know. I'm, writing whatever I feel like and not trying to change it too much.

All I know is that I feel like I am in over my head, playing in an arena with forces so far beyond my skill that my life, my literal life not some vague abstract philosophical or euphemistic abstract concept, is in danger.

Already I'm running the odds in my mind and concluding that some of you are going to think "Bullshit! You're such an attention whore." or that others have decided they aren't even reading this any further because this all sounds far too intense, or serious, or scary....and that's ok. I forgive you. I love you enough to release you from this burden if you cannot carry it. Be kind to yourself. You know what you can take on today and what is beyond you and there's no shame in not having spoons, even if you love me.

BURSTING A DAM WALL:

Today I decided I'm going to keep going. I'm just telling it like it is. I'm going to not leave anything out just because some of you will leave, or disengage, or stop listening, or get angry, or start gossiping about me... Because I've tried that road. I know how it ends.

I've failed to keep my secrets. And I am gradually, slowly, creeping closer to a literal death by self-neglect due to illness or medical negligence that leads to stroke or heart failure.

I am to die I will go down in a blaze of shining naked glory spreading the truth of what I know and who I am across the sky in a perhaps gory but fantastic display of psychological self-immolation. I protest this world which I believe would let me die because I wasn't ENOUGH to save. I know some of you know that I don't deserve this and this post hurts you but I can't keep quiet anymore.



I'll qualify my statement. I don't mean I'm dying quickly. I'm not suffering from something that will kill me TODAY (provided I don't succumb to depression and kill myself,  which is a statistically probable thought not high risk possibility at present so kindly save yourself the effort of sending me links to suicide hotlines, I already have them bookmarked).

 I estimate, depending on various factors, that I may have as little as a year to live unless some of my attempts at intervention succeed for once. I am also one of at least 3 different people I know right now who are equally in this much danger and yet nobody is aware of this for reasons I'm going to be trying to highlight elsewhere in this post. The reason we are dying are oft discussed in the abstract but I'd like to paint you a picture of what happens when people stop providing services and care to those with physical and mental illnesses. If I don't make it, I want my life to be the example people point to and say : THIS IS WHY WE SHOULDN'T BE DOING THIS. THIS IS WRONG.

#FUCKTHEPOOR

The trajectory of my life as it is currently proceeding is a deadly one. Despite some efforts being made to resolve issues with executive function, memory, persistent fatigue, chronic pain, management of mental health factors and external financial support the overall efforts martialled to my aid have routinely fallen short by about 80% of what was required to actually create the conditions necessary for me to regain control and affect meaningful change. Enough to drive someone to suicide right? Yeah, well, I've been there and tried that and decided fuck all of that. I'm going to survive against all odds and make sure that I blaze such a trail of glory and leave such a mark on those around me that when I die I will be a martyr people rally around to protest classism, sexism and homophobia, and if I live I'll be a leader that changes the world.

Delusional? Sure. Maybe. I also have nothing the fuck left to lose. Everything I love is gone up in ashes. If I don't do something extreme and extraordinary what point did it all have? I must make it matter in whatever manner I can. I'm the stuff suicide bombers are made of - but I've turned my energies to SAVING THE WORLD, not TAKING REVENGE.

Persistently this failure to obtain sufficient aid has been assumed to be a personal flaw by precisely those best positioned to take action such as doctors, nurses and aid workers. Obstacles have been placed in my path to obtaining further financial or physical support because they do not believe that the situation is a result of of circumstances beyond my control - despite the fact that people with the sort of trauma and circumstances I have had to endure are scientifically proven to have a significant disadvantage in escaping such circumstances and are unlikely to do so unless external intervention is provided to aid them in regaining control. They see me falling off the bed, reach out a pinky finger to catch me, fail to get a grip and so I fall....and then I'm told I didn't try hard enough because others have grabbed that pinky and not fallen what's wrong with me? Why am I so HEAVY?

GIRL, INTERRUPTED:

It is easy at this stage to suppose that their actions constituted "good practice" or "tough love" and that I am merely a whiney wastrel. You would be wrong. Do you know how I know? Because the very closest people to me, people who have watched me day by day and know how I choose to live have repeatedly remarked that I am extraordinary. They have remarked that I am doing things they themselves don't feel capable of doing. And I'm doing it with grace and wit and charm. I'm FLOURISHING in the realm of being loved and respected by those around me WHILE utterly failing in the realm of actually, you know, surviving on my own. So no. I'm not a bad person. Go fuck yourself for assuming that.

I have complied with every treatment protocol to the letter until. In one instance those protocols nearly cost me my kidneys.

I have attended every clinic, completed my homework, showed up to each appointment.

I've reduced my bad habits, lost a fifth of my body weight (which, when you weighed 160kg is a fuckload of weight), reduced my smoking by more than half, excercised my way out of a wheelchair, improved my sleep sanitation, talked to my therapist about my childhood trauma, attended group therapy, admitted myself to an inpatient ward and cooperated with the program, obeyed my carers in every way I could figure out how to.

And I still continued to be increasingly and progressively more ill and I am gradually developing more and more serious complaints, some of which are life threatening like my blood pressure that is 200/100 on a bad day. I have such serious exectuive function problems that my housemate purchased a fire extinguisher in my honour because I kept leaving the gas on. When I suggested I receive medication that can treat both these symptoms immediately, my doctor told me to come back in a month for an assessement to determine if it is justified in my case because they have no evidence I need the medication. That's just the latest example of how I keep getting screwed by the medical fraternity.

 My anger and frustration and dissapointment have been invalidated through false diagnosis with personality and mental disorders that were intended to illustrate to me that my own mind is at fault, not the environment I find myself in,  or any physical illness I have., The therapy and care that WAS provided emphasised that asking for help beyond what is being provided to me was a sign of relapse or illness because "codependence" is a behaviour described as disordered and I must be showing "learned helplessness".

Little care was taken to differentiate between the normal healthy dependence that all people have on their friends and family, and the dependance I had shown, and so for many years I entirely cut myself off from such support and "focused on myself" and "learned to love myself" and "self-validate". 

I also became socially isolated and agoraphobic as a result because while I was exploring all of this self improvement, I was more and more told that speaking the truth of my experience was "manipulative" or "melodramatic" or "abusive" or "controlling".

ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOOS NEST:

During this time my health bottomed out even further, but I did learn much about self-validation as a result of my very serious devotion to self improvement, because in the end when you begin to learn to trust yourself and your perception of reality, just the way they tell you to, those who would gaslight you to believe that what you need isn't what you need eventually lose their grip on your mind. I can tell you when it dawned on me I knew a rage I haven't known since the day I got pissed off at god for letting my baby brother die.

My therapists and doctors had a grip on me and they told me "You are not sick. You are not suffering. You are not in pain. It is only your imagination that is overactive, you are living in a virtual reality spawned by your childhood trauma, it is not in your body, it is in your mind." Stop arguing with us. Stop complaining....or else.

The or else was that nobody refers me to clinics for physical complaints anymore. I have indicators in the content of my file that has blackmarked me from receiving these services because I am now viewed as being delusional or worse yet, possibly an opportunistic malingerer. This all happens very silently, very unobtrusively, because of policies that exists that state the such people should never be overtly told they are being blackballed. There is merely a quiet consensus in the medical fraternity that if a patient complains of pain while mentally ill the pain is not real, and you don't have to follow normal procedure for handling that pain such as ensuring they receive investigations like x rays or blood tests or physical examinations.

Perhaps you think I'm being melodramatic? That I'm simply not willing to consider an ugly truth that I AM delusional? Again, fuck you. And no. I went and I studied fucking medical texts, thousands of hours over thousands of days. What the hell else was I able to do when I was so sick I couldn't get out of bed? I READ. More articles and papers and books on the topics related to my disorders than any doctor qualified in the field is EVER required to study. I checked their work. And they were LYING TO ME.

TL:DR MEDICAL HISTORY

Somatoform disorders, malingering etc. are by definition disorders of exclusion.

And the other possibilities have not been excluded. 

What is occurring is that I have NOT ONCE had an opportunity to provide the following to a medical provider BEFORE they judged my suit false. Despite my best efforts we keep running out of time before I can even begin to comprehensively describe my symptoms and my situation:

Examples of reasons why my case is not properly proven:

1. I have never presented a comprehensive selection of investigations of the areas that are affected, like my hips, spine, shoulder or knees such as xrays, scans, physical examination for positive or negative signs. Only a few were performed, their results were inconclusive, and I have not been provided with a second opinion as is my right.

2. No blood tests have been ordered to determine whether I suffer from deficiencies or other negative markers that might conclusively rule out physical illness.

3.I have watched others apply for services and aid and receive it routinely with far less effort or justification than I was required to provide. They were routiinely not previously diagnosed with a mental illness or part of the LGBTQ community. I believe this has influenced the quality of my care by colouring the perception of my reliability as a witness in my own story.

4. I have blatantly had childhood diagnosis with ADHD and other disorders openly questioned by doctors who did not even bother to contact the physicians who diagnosed me to confirm my story. They dismissed the diagnosis out of hand without appeal to any contrary evidence other than their own opinions. These opinions were typically formed in visits that lasted less than half an hour, while the original diagnosis was made by physicians who treated me sometimes over a period of as much as a decade.

5. Repeatedly requests that my previous medical history be brought forward and examined has been rejected. As it stands every physician I have dealt with has begun a new file, and refused or neglected to consult with any previous records I may have unless they originated in their own facility, and even then records were often incomplete or missing entirely.

6. I was refused access to a grant without appropriate examination of my means and assessment of my current condition, again generally in consultations lasting less than 20 minutes by doctors with no previous records. Few took the time to fully take my history and none examined me physically.

7. Demands to receive reassessments or second opinions were often met with suggestions that I was a hostile patient whose behavior was abusive, despite me never resorting to rude remarks, shouting, physical violence or ad hominem attacks on the physician in question.

8. My complaints and requests were repeatedly framed as being in the context of my (provably incorrect) diagnosis with a mood or personality disorder even in environments where that context was not relevant, such as where physical examinations are the appropriate means of determining a patient's status.

9. Despite compelling evidence that a physical disorder was the origin of my psychiatric symptoms ( I responded entirely positively to a hormonal intervention that eradicated larges swathes of my mental health problems in a single month without any changes to my drug regime or behavior) I continue to be labeled as having this disorder and it is brought up in every session that I have with a health provider. This disorder can influence drug choices in every aspect of my care and is creating a barrier to treatment of my other disorders due to fears about interactions or side effects that wouldnt' be relevant in my case if the diagnosis was discarded.

10. I am routinely disbelieved when I describe the severity of the situation I am in, the degree of pain I suffer, the amount of struggle I face and the degree of risk of death by unnatural causes I am facing, and this is in part due to the fact that I am diagnosed with these mental disorders that brands me as an unreliable witness of my own situation, even though it now seems I do not have them.

11.The diagnosis I DO seek is being refuted on the grounds that my symptoms can be explained by the diagnosis I do not have and are thus not relevant in any new considerations. I had to ask no less than 5 different doctors at three different hospitals before I was promised an assessment for this disorder, despite having already had a diagnosis in childhood previously which was ignored.

12. Despite receiving extensive therapy, the most commonly prescribed intervention I have received is therapy. Other therapy like physical therapy has been extremely limited. Drug therapy has consisted exlusively of psychiatric medications for the past half decade.

13. Literally no interest has been shown by my doctors in my circumstances or living conditions or how I am actually surviving. Only twice has a home visit occurred, and only by a professional who in the end had no influence or contact with my medical providers. They have LITERALLY no idea of what my life is like at home, and they disbelieve me when I describe the situation in as exact terms as possible. ie. I am starving, I cannot cook for myself, I cannot clean, I cannot bathe, I cannot work - all exact factual statements I am extremely willing to prove under scrutiny but which have NEVER been conclusively proven to be exaggerations or lies by ANYONE responsible for my care, or ANYONE who knows me in person.

14. Despite me being exclusively dependent on third parties for my meals, my accommodation, my utitilities and transport, my groceries, medical care, medicine, clothing and access to the internet I am still being charged medical aid rates for care at state hospitals because I am deemed to be privileged. I've actually applied to the department of labour for their unemployment register which qualifies me as indigent, but I am not believed despite being willing to answer any questions and submit any documents I am physically capable of obtaining to prove my indigency. No consideration is given to my disability when demanding that I must obtain additional proofs from sources I am not able to visit because I am too ill and so my failure - a direct result of the degree of my disability - is taken as evidence that I am not indigent and merely opportunistic.

15. Any sign of anger, disagreement, distrust, dissapointment, sadness, fear or upset about medical providers or the system of care is interpreted not as being the fitting emotional state to feel when subjected to these experiences but a result of wrongful thinking on my part, ingratitude, a bad attitude, delusion or emotional disregulation. In other words I am only allowed to feel positive emotions about this situation, or I am sick and wrong.

I'm tired of pretending to be ok out of fear that being authentic will be a price too dear to pay. I'm tired being gaslighted and silenced, and worse yet gaslighting and silencing myself.

I'm tired of putting a positive spin on it. Of turning every communication to the outside world into disability porn because people can't deal with the reality that my life is a steaming pile of shit they cannot imagine anyone surviving and not find it creepy and improbable and this suspicious that I'm still being so calm and reasonable and they doubt the truth of my story because they simply couldn't live like this themselves and not fall apart entirely or lose their minds so I therefore it is me that must be a FAKE.

AND THEN IT GOT WORSE:

And on top of all this, there is another layer of struggle that literally only four 5 people in the world knew until today. Even my therapist, whom I have seen for six months, did not understand the depth of my despair and hopelessness and fear and danger danger danger....until this week. A dam wall in me broke. I couldn't do it anymore. I can't pretend anymore.

When most of you were sipping champagne on new year's eve, I held my partner in my arms as she wept her way through the countdown. After it ended, I begged her to give me 365 more days to save her and my life before I would stop standing in the way of any attempt she might make at suicide.

You see my partner and I are transgendered. She needs surgery to stop feeling like cutting her body apart because she has features that do not belong but which she feels every time she breathes, or turns,or walks or dresses or bathes....like a giant thorn lodged in a nerve bundle throbbing to be removed but which she must daily simply tolerate because there are no painpills for gender dysphoria There's only surgery and we are too poor to pay for it. Transgenderism can be like cancer, a slow death that results from a person suffering so much unremitting daily pain that the surrender the will to live.

She no longer eats unless bring her food and I'm getting too sick to bring myself food let alone her. She just sits and keeps herself distracted with reading a bunch of papers on topics I'll never understand and trying to solve equations I can't even read. She is a genius who could have had a sparkling career in IT or mathematics, but her beautiful mind is dying....she tells me stories of a cow on her childhood farm who died after miscarrying because she just...decided to die.

At midnight tonight I will have 277 days left to do something magical and amazing and save her life, or find a reason to persuade her to give me more time. As it stands if she develops complications due to her current malnutrition I have been instructed not to resort to extraordinary means to save her life. I am being asked by her, with a regularity of about once every two days or so, to let her die.

I have been living with this reality now since roughly 30 October of 2016. I was not at liberty to tell this secret as it was a matter of her privacy, but I am reaching a level of desperation that has caused me to act to save her life despite that involving taking actions that may in the long run end our relationship, even if it saves her life because these are not my secrets to tell and she does not want me to save her.

Even if we could pay for the surgery today, she'd still only have a slim chance of surviving as she is so emaciated and weak and run down that she might not be able to receive it and she has explicitly stated she is too tired to try. I'd have to turn on my charisma to 1000 to persuade her to even TRY right now...but I know that I have that power. I used it the night I got her to promise to give me another year. I can do it again.

I hope that I can change her mind. I hope that I can help her survive even though she has stopped caring if she lives or dies.

WHY HAVEN'T  YOU TRIED DOING IT MY WAY?

I have asked for help before. Nobody really wants to get involved. They might send me a bit of help here and there, but in general everyone seems to be suffering from the bystander effect: Someone else will do it. Or pehaps they are just unable to handle the truth. They think: Surely they are exaggerating! People prefer to think that surely the reason this is happening is because I'm just not availing myself of the support structures we all want to believe exists to prevent these catastrophes.

They need to believe that me failing to get help is my CHOICE because the alternative is enough to make people turn ashen. The alternative is a cold, dark, deadly world that they are not ready to believe is reality.

They can't handle the truth.

Nobody really believes that the only solution left is for individual people to support us financially until we can get ourselves healthy, get her surgery, spend time recovering physically and mentally and then rebuild our lives because rich fucking assholes have been producing propagandistic bullshit for years to convince us that people who die of hunger or live in poverty have nobody but themselves to blame.

I don't actually believe there will be help. I don't think anyone will come. I don't wait around for someone to rescue us because I've tried asking for that several times and failed and I'm still waiting for anyone to actually follow through with the saving part. There simply is never ENOUGH interest in saving our lives - but I've had about 20 people offer to organise food donations. That's great guys but I'm on a prescription diet and I can't cook the damn food so really more donations aren't going to solve the problem.

 I need HELP, and you don't get help in a food donation basket. |You just get variation on the theme of a can of beans  and a loaf of bread you can't eat because it gives you  joint inflammation so bad you can't walk, a box of milk you can't drink because you're lactose intolerant and it gives you asthma, and the loss of about two days of your time and money organising how to get all these useless items to your house for which you must now feign gratitude aswell or risk being branded "one of those poor people who don't want to be helped.

FUCK YOU
I need specific and rare foods and medicines to meet the demands of my specific and rare ilnesses. I  need a physical aid worker in my house providing assistance so that I can at last take the rest that I am endlessly being advised to take so that while I do my partner doesn't literally stop eating totally and die. These things COST MONEY. So yes. I NEED FUCKING MONEY.

I'm not doing drugs. I'm not blasting it all on chocolates or blow or shoes or the lotto. I just don't have a way to get any because when I try to work I develop such serious health problems that historically I've been hospitalised for burnout. BECAUSE I AM SICK.

To every doctor or therapist who has ever told me I didn't need a grant, or that thought I was a drug addict or a liar, or every judgmental asshole who ever blackened my name behind my back because I didn't meet your standards for who gets to live and who gets to die: FUCK YOU.

I AM LOVED

To every friend who has paid for doctors, food, shelter, medicine, transport, who have sat with me while I cry and who has come with me to a doctor or called a social worker or given up your own food and wellbeing to try to save us:

I call upon the universe  or whatever gods there be who can be persuaded by my sincerity to be benevolent: To reward you in whatever measure you gave, but sevenfold and unto the seventh generation.. If it is in my power to repay you, it will be done, and I will devote the remainder of whatever life I end up having to ensuring that your name is held high amongst those whose opinion you value, that you are made safe from whatever threatens you and that you are lifted up from whatever strikes you down in despair. What little I have is yours. I will pay it forward.

This I promise on my life.

And now that you are all writhing in agony over the beautiful sadness of this post, get over it.

I want the lot of you to get over how fucking sad it all is.

Because this is the reality literally billions of people live in every day. I am not important. I am not special. I am not unique. This isn't some extraordinary story and wildly tragic melodrama.

This is nothing more than ordinary life.

I DESERVE A LIFE:

Human beings are extraordinary. We survive where it seems there is no hope. They persist. ROUTINELY.

ROUTINELY billions of people across the world are living in EXACTLY the same level of unbelievable shit that I do. This is not some unique tragedy. This is just business as usual. Capitalism in full swing crushes people like ME.

I persist. I am a hero. I am a badass. I am not a victim-mentality paralysed little waif or a snowflake. But I AM vulnerable to forces so vast and wide and outside of my control that sometimes I really just need some fucking help to save a life and it pisses me off that I don't get a response unless I put on the waterworks. For fucks sake! Can't we just care for each other because it is RIGHT? Because that's what makes us human? Can't we remember that we all enter this world paralysed, squalling, a little bit blue and filthy with viscera? We all needed this kind of help. There is absolutely no shame in being too weak to care for yourself, needing rescue or help. It's not really actually such a big deal. Let us just get on with the business of it!

I AM POWERFUL:

Everyone can lift someone else up. I have proven to the members in the group I moderate that EVEN IN CIRCUMSTANCES LIKE MINE YOU CAN SHINE. I have recently saved someone from SEXUAL ABUSE and HOMELESSNESS with nothing more than my time and an internet connection at my disposal. ME. Despite what I was going through. Because I didn't make it an excuse for me to just walk on by. I reached out with a group of friends who also took a stand, all of whom have different challenges themselves like chronic illness and disabilities and sick kids and unemployment and WE worked together to change the outcome.

DO WHAT YOU CAN WITH WHAT YOU HAVE WHERE YOU ARE

We can all turn the tide of poverty and suffering in people's lives by simply refusing this narrative about poverty that tells us we arent' supposted to get involved. BE INVOLVED.

We can all reject the stories we are told about how poor people did this to themselves because WE ARE THE POOR PEOPLE. All of us are struggling. How many of you feel you have everything you need to live a good life? Stop listening to people who want to #Fuckthepoor so they can have a bigger cut or your taxes for their luxury yachts who will lie to you and teach you to distrust the poor when they ask for a handout. You are not the 1%.

You were literally born into a handout. Someone picked up your naked body and held you while your mother struggled to recover from birthing you. Someone HELPED HER GIVE BIRTH TO YOU. You have been dependant on someone since before you were born. Let's stop thinking of codependance as a mental illness! True, vulnerable, authentic, deep codependance is BEATIFUL.

As long as it comes along with a decent dose of accountability and responsibility it is NOT pathalogical.

I HAVE A TRIBE:

Let's get involved with others. Lets help them give birth to better lives. Let's not try to tell them what to do or how to do it. Let's trust them to be as competent as we are. Sometimes they will surprise you.

I'm living in a situation that is unbearable, terrified for my life. I'm pretty certain at this point I'm not going to make it no matter what I do, and my life partner is already toast unless I learn to walk on water. I'm probably not going to have any friends left after I post this post because most of them will just blackball my feed rather than deal with the reality that someone they care about is possibly dying and they feel powerless to prevent it.

But then there's you guys. The ones that apparently are just like me. Batshit crazy enough to read to the end. Stubborn enough to stick your neck out beyond a safe distance. Arrogant enough to believe that the rules don't apply to you.

I am the sort of person crazy enough to change the world simply because I believe that I can.

I was determined enough that I lost 30kg even though I'd been overweight for twenty years. I never gave up. I'm stubborn enough that I walked for five years on a dislocated ankle just to prove a doctor wrong about you being a layabout so that I could finally get help for that dumb ankle. I showed up for work with pneumonia a week after my miscarriage, because I did not understand that what I was experiencing is actually early signs of, you know, death.

Because I don't stop until I'm dead.

WHERE THERE IS LIFE THERE IS HOPE:


I know we aren't all supposed to be doing this thing where we push ourselves to the edge, but I'm just saying I'm fucked anyways so I might as well give it a shot, right? I might as well keep on trying to invent new ways to manage my illness while I cool my heels between pointless appointments that go nowhere. I can carry on trying to learn enough science to invent my own cure. I can try to start a business that will make enough money to pay for the surgery in the next 277 days.

But I need a hand. I have so many AMAZING IDEAS for people who have disabilities to earn and survive on their own terms. I simply don't have the energy or the money to implement them alone from where I am right now. But I'm a really creative and inspiring person  and if we could colaborate I could do something amazing. I KNOW it. I just sort of need to eat you know? And I can't work a normal nine to five, or leave my house even right now because reasons....

If anyone reads this and understands what I'm asking for sweet. I consider myself to have peformed my duty in asking, in every way I know of, for aid in surviving. I'm not keeping it in. I'm not hiding some of the aspects of the issue. I'm not setting all sorts of boundaries on it to make it impossible to reach. I'm just showing up, spitting on my hands and saying : Right. Let's do this. What have you got for me? I am willing to cut you all in to whatever cool thing we make, I'm not a user. But what I do need to do this is tangible help taking care of my physical needs and my wife first because I'm not a breatharian and she's more of a downer right now than Marvin the Paranoid Android.

I JUST NEED HELP.

Dream
Send me a sign
Turn back the clockGive me some timeI need to break outAnd make a new nameLet's open our eyesTo the brand new dayIt's a brand new day




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