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The hardest part is not being able to keep up. I can’t keep up with my old self and what I was able to do when I was younger. I can’t keep up with the neurotypical people around me who seem to be able to deal with this stuff no problem. Becoming emotionally bankrupt from simple things is such a complciated thing to understand. I know that I have to stay within 25-30 hours of work in order to stay in my “safe” zone and not over-exert or overcommit myself. But I forget about travel time, which, considering the suburb I live in, can add up to two hours, at least an hour and a half. And while I technically can use that time as down time, there’s just something about the travel that can get to me.
And then never mind the times when I am just so anxious about finances that I take any extra shifts that are available, even if it means waking up extra early without a guarantee that I won’t have an insomnia episode. Then I end up like I am now, a shell of myself, barely able to stay awake or function properly, steeped in depression and despair. This is something I’ve struggled with my whole life, and I didn’t know why I was feeling so bad all the time until I started learning more about that.
So last week, I ended up working 40 hours over 8 days, and I could feel that it was too much. When I counted it and saw that I was WAY over the safe zone, I could understand why the depression was so bad. But when I tried to explain it, I started realizing how dumb that sounds. Why can’t I just get used to working 40 hours per week? I might be able to, I don’t know, but as it stands right now, I just can’t, unless I draw from reserves I don’t have, and then I end up on the mat for a week or two. And then if I still keep pushing, I become unable to get out of bed, and eventually lose the will to do anything.
Everything about this is pretty embarrassing. For example, I can’t get anything for my headache, because I have to stay away from pills. If I wanted to buy something, I’d have to get someone else to give me only the number of pills that I need, and then put then somewhere I can’t find them. I COULD try to do it myself, and maybe one day I’ll be able to, but right now that would be a disaster waiting to happen. Thus is the nature of self-destructive behaviours.
But the thing is, all of it would be fine if asking for help were normalized. Could you imagine? A world where we could do what we need to do to thrive, without being judged or ridiculed, or told that we “should” be able to manage things like everyone else?
Hope this helps you. Sending hugs.
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“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him.”
~ Romans 15:13