Just So Fucking Tired

The trouble isn’t that I’m not smart.  I’ve tested for MENSA.  I just barely didn’t qualify.  I’m in the top 2%, not 1%.  I graduated Summa Cum Laude.  I’m capable of both math and writing.  I’m fully capable.  I have so much potential. 

The problem is for 4 years now, my brain has not consistently been getting the blood and oxygen that it needs to function.  Take normal neurodivergent forgetfulness and magnify it.  I can’t even info dump on my special interests because I can’t retain the knowledge.  I lose everyday words all the time.  I’ve forgotten how to do the math that I did for 20 hours a week for 3 years while working in the maths department.  My spelling is worse than usual because I can no longer see how words go together.

Tumblr jokes about having only one brain cell, but I’m watching in real-time as lack of oxygen kills mine off.  At least that is how it feels.  That is how it seems.

And if I didn’t have the potential I have, maybe I wouldn’t notice it as much.  But I’m watching myself just get dumber and dumber.  At least that’s how it feels.  And it’s painful. 

They say it takes 4 years for your brain to recover from sustained blood loss.  But I can’t keep blood in my body long enough for my brain to recover.  So it just gets worse and worse.  And I feel… some things are worse than death.  Not being dumb itself, that’s fine.  But watching my potential and the dreams I had based on it burn away from a consistent lack of oxygen.

And my doctor, the specializes in blood (the title escaped me, you’ll have to excuse me) just has zero interest in figuring out why I suddenly stopped making my own blood 4 years ago.  I got regular yearly blood work up to that point.  I wasn’t anemic.  And then suddenly I had half as much blood in me as I was supposed to and that was all she wrote.  I’ve been severely anemic ever since.  I took mass quantities of iron as a supplement.  My body just flushed it.  The only thing that forces my body to make blood is a regular iron infusion.  Sometimes, even then, I still need a blood transfusion.

My friend Joy taught me to have my B12 levels checked.  Mine is checked 4-12 times a year.  I take mass quantities of B12 anyway because maybe I have the motherfucker gene and my body needs more than it should.  It helps a little, but it can’t keep up.  My blood doctor refuses to test for anything.  He just keeps ordering iron infusions and blood transfusions as if that’s to be the end-all solution for the rest of my life.

And I’m so tired.  I’m so fucking tired.

I had a potentially life-altering realization over the weekend that would explain like a million things at once, but would also mean I’m dying in a, there is no saving me sort of way, and it was almost a relief.  Because while I’m not suicidal, I can’t keep living like this. 

I’ll talk more about the realization later once some tests are run.  Because I don’t want to alarm people prematurely.  It’s probably nothing.  I’m probably no more dying than usual, considering I do keep almost dying anyway.  This post isn’t about that thing.  I’m more illustrating, by alluding to it, just how tired I am.

I’m just so fucking tired.  So fucking tired.


I work evenings now. I’m usually gone when Sammy goes to bed. Which wouldn’t be a problem, if Sammy didn’t have crippling anxiety.

Unfortunately, Sammy does have crippling anxiety, with a side of depression. The worst of it is at bedtime.

One night I was lamenting that I would give anything for Sammy to have a dog that could go to bed with her every night. A furry friend that Sammy could find comfort in when I’m not there. I’d train the dog that Sammy was his human and he could help her not be scared.

The catch is, our rent goes up a couple of hundred dollars and we’d need to pay a hefty security deposit if we got a dog. And while we could mostly afford the basics of dog ownership, we can not afford extra rent.

Then my best friend suggested an ESA dog and it’s like suddenly the skies had cleared. ESA dogs and their disabled humans are a protected class and legally our landlord can not charge us extra rent or a security deposit for one. And Sammy is in for real, legitimate need.

I spoke to Sammy’s therapist, and she is in huge support of the idea. She’s looking into what she needs to do on her end, then she’s going to write a letter that basically prescribes Sammy with an ESA. We’ll take that letter and a print out of the law to our landlord and have them add that to our file.

Then we’re going to go to the shelter and find a pitbull or pitbull mix that responds to Sammy as the sad puppy she is. Pitbulls make excellent ESA dogs.

Together we’ll train him with the standard set of obedience commands like sit and stay. I’ll also train him to sleep in Sammy’s room at night. Since he won’t be going to the grocery store or other errands, the basic discipline commands are all he really needs. I’ll also train him on how to be walked by the 9yo, who isn’t very strong. We’ll walk her together right now, but as she gets older I want her to be able to take her dog around the neighborhood by herself, without the dog pulling on the leash.

I told Sammy about the decision a few days after I made it. She’s in research mode very concerned with learning how to train, the best food options, the best dog beds and toys, and “we’re going to get the dog chipped, right mom?”

It took her all of 24 hours to name the dog we don’t have and that we’ve never met. I campaigned for Ativan since the dog would be helping her with Anxiety. She considered it but eventually settled on Toby. Her only concern was the Toby was a boy’s name and the dog might be a girl. I pointed out dogs don’t have a gender and that blew her mind but settled the problem.

We’ll welcome Toby into our life within the next 6 months.