As bad as I am, I’m proud of the fact that I’m worse than I seem.

I’m a chronic whiner. At certain points of my life, I’ve actively tried not to complain so much, but I discovered long ago that it’s just not going to happen.

On the other hand, there’s a lot I don’t say. Or allow myself to notice, even.

Most days I’m just fine (or at least at normal levels of chronic). My head hurts more than most peoples, I get dizzier than most people, the sadness is insufferable in a way it isn’t for everyone, but I manage (read: maintain).

When I was in high school I developed a blood pressure disorder that they told me I’d outgrow. When I was at the doctor’s office last month, the nurse took my BP and gave me the same open-mouthed gape that health professionals have been giving me for the last decade, followed by (with me parroting inside my head), “How are you STANDING right now?”

I blame Mother Nature and her pressure more than anything at this point, but I’ve been on the verge of fainting since 6PM last night. I ate potato chips all night, woke up at 3AM to find my arms couldn’t move without excruciating pain, and I’ve been seeing spots all morning.

Grow out of it, my butt.

I’m extremely grateful that this doesn’t usually manifest in anything but the occasional dizzy spell and I suppose an off day (fingers crossed its only one) is just the price I have to pay for a shitty genetic code, but today I have surrendered myself completely to self-pity and woe-is-me anger.

I’ll be back to my normal, run of the mill, whiny resting state before too long. I hope.

Now to find some Gatorade…


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