Feb. 27th, 2017

torquill: The devourer of worlds is not impressed. (devourer)
Most of the time I'm doing pretty well; I'm content, I'm pleasantly busy, I have what I need and life goes pretty smoothly. Every so often the facade slips, though, and it's like I'm waking up out of a pleasant dream, like the illusion falters for a second. It's not depression, or not primarily depression, though I do tend to get a sense of despair and hopelessness when I look at it. This is me emerging out of my safe little burrow and having a look around.

My increased pain levels, the exhaustion which is far worse than two years ago, my joint issues, the fight with Social Security, the lack of any viable treatments for my condition, reading through my medical charts and realizing how many medical professionals have basically noted down that I'm mentally unstable even as they smile to my face and say they believe me, my growing host of food sensitivities, the solvent I can't tolerate showing up in a growing number of cleaning products, reacting to my own body's estrogen production, the difficulty of procuring what I need to deal with that even when the doctor *does* believe me, the garbage fire that is my finances, all the projects I started and now can't work on because I have no energy anymore, the state of decay of the yard and the house, the horror of a Trump presidency for a poor disabled trans person...

A two-panel comic, where a dog is sitting in a room which is on fire.  In the second panel, the dog says, "This is fine."

Thank god for Ingress.

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Torquill

June 2017

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