Chronic Illness Sucks: More at Eleven

I wish I could say that things have improved, but I... would be a big fat liqr.

Okay, that's not strictly true. Things have *progressed* even if they haven't *improved*. I've gotten to see some specialists, and I'm getting tests done; I have a referral to the EDS experts at Mayo Clinic and I found a fantastic colorectal doctor who actually cares about why my digestive system doesn't work anymore. But things are slow and I still don't have answers, and since they still don't know what's wrong with me, I'm still not getting treatment, and my shitty health has not gotten any better. I've been in and out of the hospital for months.

You know what you need a diagnosis for? Disability.

I have a lovely job that works around my schedule and my health that I can do when I'm able, and an incredibly patient, understanding boss who I am so grateful to have, but I just haven't been able to actually get that much work *done*. I'm doing what I can when I can but it's just... not enough. I haven't been able to be enough. And it fucking *sucks*. I feel like all of the life has been sucked out of me. It's miserable, being too broken to be able to take care of yourself and make ends meet. I hate it. Nobody talks a about the mental toll being chronically ill takes on you.

So anyways, here I am, having to beg for help because my stupid body hates me. This is me asking for enough to pay insurance and make sure I can get groceries for the next couple of months while I try to catch up.

I really, truly appreciate y'all so much, and I'm sorry to have to ask like this. Trust me, I don't enjoy it.