#chronic fatigue is a bitch

[mushramoo]

im eepy but I need to do work. someone tell me to do my work

[rambler-in-limbo]

Are those 2 even the same Fake Peppino?

Like they are physically different-

I assume you mean the big boy in the last ask and yes, that’s the same Fake we know and love

For future reference: Normal Fake Peppino

Vs Chase Fake Peppino

He’s the only clone of his batch that can become so large without needing to combine with other clones. He only does this when extremely upset past the point of keeping his composure.

The triplets (and other Fake clones) on the other hand can only get that large and strong by fusing together since they are weaker.

(Old drawing but same design)

[zephyr-windss]

Really wish I could do as much as I used to without having to pass out for 3 days straight.

[murasaki-sama]

woke up

wrote a poem 'ode to pigeons'

going back to sleep now

[chainsawmascara]

I spent six straight hours hand sewing something

Only to realize

At 4:40am

I forgot to resize the fucking pattern i was modifying.

[raeathnos]

.

[impure-as-a-lamb]

genuinely fuck all my family members that made fun and keep making fun of my pain and don’t take me seriously. then something bad happens or i get finally diagnosed and they’re like “omg why didn’t you tell me sooner???” YOU ALWAYS TOLD ME I WAS EXAGGERATING.

[minimallycreative]

i love how sometimes, despite all the medical advancements of the 21st century, the only thing that relieves pain is sitting/laying/standing in a weird position because it places/doesn't place pressure on certain spots

[chronic-counter-user000]

PRAISE THE FUCKING LORDS WE HAVE A CANE

CELEBRATION

MY FIRST MOBILITY AID

[brother-genitivi]

sorry everyone, I'm very much alive 🏃‍♂️

sorta homeless, staying with a friend. got a house in my name from the 19th onwards so that's chill! chronically ill, too fatigued to do a lot of things but I'm trying 🤟 kind of accepting that I'm joining the disability club.

trying my hand at art again, but very very slowly easing back into it. appreciate those who reached out to me <3

thinking about you all. missed my moots :)

[thatharringrovehoe]

Like, maybe Steve gets bitten by a radioactive spider in the secret Russian base. Developes powers and does what he's always done, protect people. He and Robin go to New York and rent a shoe box apartment and when Dustin gets accepted to University there he becomes *obsessed* with the local web slinging vigilante that saved him from muggers and then gave him a (terrifying) lift to his classes.

Meanwhile Billy wakes up in the back of a government van with a hole in his chest and a broken mind, probably on his way to be dissected in a creepy lab. No one really knows what happened. Just that the van crashed and went up in flames, Billy's body written off as a loss by the feds. He travels, never staying in one place for to long and minding his own fucking business as much as an undead mutant freak with super strength and impossible healing powers can. He goes to Cali for a while, but that turns out to be a mistake. His mom has a whole new family now, complete with two kids and a golden retriever, not a single picture of Billy in the entire house. It taints everything, and within a week he's gone, on a bus headed who knows where. He eventually finds himself in New York, doing shitty odd jobs for whoever can get past the scowl and faint black veins across his entire body. Not like he shows anyone his body. The scars alone are enough that he's permanently covered with a hoodie and jeans. Through one way or the other Billy finds himself working as a mercenary. The ability to regrow limbs and lift a car over your head really puts you on the fast track. Go figure. He's on his way back from a job when he hears a woman's muffled scream down a dark alley and without thinking he takes off like a shot. Billy ends up beating the shit out of some low life purse snatcher only for her to recoil and run the second she sees his face. Rolling his eyes he pulls up the scarf around his neck so just his eyes are visible. A voice he would know anywhere sounds from behind him.

"Wow, that was fucking rude of her. You alright?"

Billy turns around and his brain short circuits.

Get possessed by a demon shadow monster?

Check ✓

Come back from the dead?

Check ✓

His highschool crush turns out to be a god damn superhero?!

Check ✓

[blue-genes]

Fuck you and your fake sympathy.

[slyvester101]

Despite what everyone thought, Wash did actually know how to sleep. 

He knew intimately how not getting enough rest could mean life or death, how just one sleepless night can incapacitate someone to the point of dysfunction.

He has a scar on his shoulder from a bullet he couldn’t dodge, feet stumbling over the terrain after a sleepless night high up in a jungle canopy. A sniper shot through his armor, piercing his skin and leaving a nasty mark on his thigh when he was too tired to stay aware of his surroundings. He almost got stabbed in the throat after getting backstabbed by a tip, leaving a faint scar tracing the side of his neck.  

There are many more scars like that–-usually a bit more mundane in nature, like when he tripped over his own feet and broke his nose by face planting into the concrete—that reminded Wash of the importance of sleep, that pushed him to getting as much sleep as he could. 

He wasn’t always able to get a solid eight hours in a row, nightmares are a hell of a bitch and sometimes a mission called for unusual hours awake, but Wash quickly figured out that he could make up for the sleep he missed by taking naps throughout the day. And since he was almost always on the move, he learned to sleep in some… odd positions. But if it meant the difference between life or death, Wash was willing to learn how to sleep in full power armor on a stack of crates in the middle of the day.

So yes, Wash knew how to sleep even if his way was rather unusual. And he knew that he wasn’t the only one with quirks when it came to when or how they slept.

Which is why he didn’t say anything about Tucker’s odd sleeping habits when he joined the blues.

They had just finished fighting the Meta, bodies bruised and a little broken when they finally made it back to the safety of their base, so it made sense that most of the time spent in those beginning months were used for sleeping, healing, and recovering from the long months hopping from fight to fight. 

It made sense to find Tucker curled up in bed well into the late hours of the day, napping on the couch or on the roof of the base. Wash was a little surprised when he spotted him cuddling with Caboose in his room occasionally with all the bitching and complaining Tucker does about him.

Even once they are all healed up and settled, Wash didn’t take notice of Tucker’s occasional lack of energy, simply assuming he’s just always been a low maintenance, low energy guy, maybe even a little lazy sometimes.

There are days where Tucker can barely get out of bed to eat, those days only noted because Caboose would come up to Wash and ask him to help get Tucker up for the day. But there were also days when Tucker seemed to burn with energy, buzzing in his skin and begging Wash for a spar or two.

He didn’t think anything of it, not really. He understood trauma and depression and everything that came with it. He, himself, wasn’t the best example of mental stability. So he didn’t say anything.

Not until Crash Site Bravo.

He’s training with Tucker, Caboose having already finished his laps and off to explore more of the canyon, still peppy and hopeful for the day Church comes back (Wash has his doubts, but he doesn’t voice them. He too wants to hold onto the hope that Carolina didn’t just leave him behind again). 

Tucker’s been falling behind more and more lately, more stubborn and grumpy and passive aggressive than ever. He snaps when Wash gives orders, continually sleeps in past schedule, and is always finding excuses for breaks.

Wash thinks Tucker is just being pissy about his friend leaving and about Wash taking charge during their extended stay in the gorge 

He’s not wrong, but he’s not completely right either.

“Tucker! I didn’t say you could stop!” Wash shouts from his place at the end of the track, arms folded as he waits for Tucker to get his hands off his knees and finish the lap.

He still had two more to go.

“Just… just give me a minute.”

Wash grits his teeth, patience slowly thinning the longer Tucker drags this on. He barks at Tucker to keep moving, that the battlefield will not allow Tucker a break to catch his breath. 

Tucker only gasps, shaking on his legs before his knees crash to the ground, unable to keep himself up any longer.

Wash drops the hardass act, worry sinking into his stomach as Tucker crouches more and more on himself, seemingly unable to catch his breath. “Tucker?”

He starts moving when Tucker doesn’t respond, the harsh breathing being the only response Wash gets. He kneels down next to him, gets his hands on his shoulders to keep him steady as he checks him over for injuries. “Hey, hey, are you okay? Did I push you too hard?”

Tucker throws a weak glare his way, wheezing and panting like he’d never run a lap in his life. “What do… do you think? Fuck.”

“Easy. Deep breathes. Take your time, okay?” He lets Tucker crash into his chest, heavy and exhausted. They sit there for a while, Tucker doing his best to take large gulps of air now that he doesn’t have to worry about collapsing onto the floor.

It takes a while, but he does get his breath back and the shaking stops. They take Tucker’s helmet off as well, the aqua soldier practically melts into the cold armor of Wash’s chest plate when his bare face hits the metal. “‘M really tired, Wash.”

“You’re always tired, Tucker.” An observation, not a critique. The last few months are now being observed in a different light as Tucker mumbles an important detail.

“Chronic fatigue is a bitch.”

Wash blinks. “I didn’t know you had chronic fatigue.”

“Why do you think me and Grif get along so well? We both tired ass bitches.” Ah, that explains a lot actually. The constant napping, the lack of motivation, the sudden crashes in energy. Wash really should’ve taken that into consideration.

He feels even more like a jerk when he remembers he thought of Tucker and Grif as lazy assholes. The sting of shame rings loud and clear as Wash shifts Tucker to sit more comfortably against him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not wake me up at 5am every morning?”

“I think we can manage that.” Wash snorts, relaxing a bit at hearing Tucker sass him as usual.

His amusement fades a bit when Tucker seems to melt in relief at the statement, almost sobbing at the confirmation that he’s no longer required to wake up so early in the morning. “You’re exhausted, huh?”

“I just wanna sleep all the time. It fucking sucks. I can’t do anything.” Tucker slumps further into Wash, misery soaking into his voice.

Wash thinks back to Blood Gulch, to the days where Tucker seemed to have endless energy, a smile nearly cracking his face open as he ran circles around the reds with Caboose. He then thinks of the days where Tucker stayed miserably tucked in his room, bleary eyed and grumpy and more crass than normal. 

Wash had figured Tucker was having a bad day, that his mind had decided to fill with thoughts of inadequacy or insecurity like it does for Wash. And maybe there was a bit of that, but Wash would now pay good money that Tucker was more upset about the fact that he couldn’t get out of bed, that he didn’t have the energy to be the high-spirited man he was than anything regarding his mental health. 

Looking back at the previous infrequency of Tucker’s less energetic episodes and comparing them with Tucker’s more recent descent into tiredness and dimming motivation, Wash makes the conclusion that there’s other factors pushing Tucker off the deep end into his sleeping disorder.

“Do you have any meds you need to be taking?”

“Ran out. I think Grif is running low too.” Tucker mumbles.

Wash makes a note to talk to Simmons about that, hopefully the red had gathered tips on the best way to assist with someone showing symptoms of extreme exhaustion, maybe even things specific to Tucker with how long they’ve known each other. Until then, Wash settles to keep Tucker safe while he faces the rough edge of his exhaustion. “Well, that’s shitty.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Tucker curls further into Wash, not even trying to muffle down his whines as he hisses in pain. “My head hurts.”

“You wanna go lay down?”

“If I lay down, I am not getting back up again.” Tucker warns, skeptical that Wash would let him rest that long.

Wash vows to be a better friend than that, one that Tucker (and Caboose) can rely on to tell them when they’re tired or hurt, to earn their trust to tell him that they have a fucking disorder they need meds for. He grabs the back of Tucker’s neck, squeezing gently as he leans him to sit back.

“I think I can make an exception.” Wash assists Tucker back to his feet, arms reached out to help him stand. It becomes clear rather quickly that Tucker will not be making it to his room on his own. 

After stumbling side by side for a while, Wash decides to just save them both the headache and scoops Tucker up into his arms. He expects Tucker to protest, to flail and bitch about being held like a baby, but Tucker simply sinks into Wash, sighs gently, and shuts his eyes. 

He’s out before they even make it halfway to Tucker’s room. 

Wash takes his time getting there, not wanting to disturb Tucker from his much needed sleep. He lets habit guide his legs as he focuses on keeping the precious bundle in his arms still, smiling gently at the soft look of Tucker’s face as he relaxes.

He’s so focused on his face, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice the new presence hovering behind him.

“Is Tucker hurt?”

It takes every bit of Freelancer training to not jump as Caboose pops out from seemingly nowhere. Wash smiles gently at him, hoping it’s as comforting as possible as he adjusts Tucker to fit snugly against his chest, thankful that he didn’t wake up from the sudden noise. “No, he’s just tired.”

Caboose nods sadly, pouting underneath his helmet as he twitches in place. “Tucker is always tired.”

“I know, Caboose.”

“He is out of medicine.” Wash blinks. He hadn’t expected Caboose to know about Tucker’s condition. Then again, they have been on a team together longer than Wash has. Caboose probably knows more about what’s normal or not for Tucker. 

“Yeah, he told me. He’s probably going to be pretty worn out until we can get it refilled.”

“Tucker hates being tired.” 

“I know. We’ll figure something out for him, try to make things easier while we’re stuck in this canyon.” Caboose nods again, but doesn’t say anything more as he stands off to Wash’s side, looking a little antsy as he stares at Tucker.

“Something wrong?”

He shakes his head as he picks at the seams of his gloves. It’s weird seeing Caboose so fidgety and not bouncing off the walls or yelling at the top of his lungs. Wash puts together that maybe, just maybe, Caboose is purposefully being quiet so Tucker can sleep. “No, it’s just that I’m usually the one to take Tucker to bed when he falls asleep because Church isn’t strong enough to carry him.”

“Oh… Would you like to help me?” 

“Yes!” Caboose slaps a hand over his mouth after he shouts, looking at Tucker’s still sleeping form before letting his hand slip away to show off his smile. Bouncing on his feet as he crowds near, Wash lets him gently hold up Tucker's dangling legs as they walk the last stretch to Tucker’s room.

Once Tucker is gently placed under his blankets, his armor removed and placed in a pile on the floor, Wash tries to move away to exit with Caboose in tow. He’s stopped by Tucker latching onto his arm, grip firm and unmoving as he’s tugged to lean on the bed.

“Stay.” He hears him muffle into his pillow.

Caboose stage-whispers his gasp, shaking Wash gently as he shares his idea. “We should have a sleepover! We can make a fort and everything!”

Wash looks down at Tucker, the man not even trying to hang onto consciousness before slipping back asleep. He nudges him a little, silently asking for approval before they no doubt turn his room into a giant mess of pillows and blankets. Tucker hums softly, pushing into the touch as he sinks into the bed.

That’s probably the best they’re gonna get.

“Alright, let’s do it. But—” He holds up a hand to keep Caboose from cheering, putting a finger over his mouth as he whispers, “—let’s keep quiet so we don’t disturb Tucker, okay?”

Caboose nods, zipping his lips and throwing away the key before bolting out of the room to gather supplies. Wash sighs after him, smiling as he lets himself sit fully on the bed. He bumps slightly into Tucker as he does, the line of Tucker’s body curling into him the closer he gets.

In a moment of pure intuition and impulse, Wash cards a hand through Tucker’s hair, careful not to pull on the long locs Tucker spends meticulous care on. He gets to watch as Tucker melts against him, practically purring under his hands as Wash gently scratches at his scalp.

“Sleep well, Lavernius.”

I’m gonna get you out of here. He thinks.

I promise.

[murasaki-sama]

Here is something that they don’t tell you when you are able bodied, and therefore you must learn for yourself when you become disabled -

Eating takes effort and energy.

I will make food, and I will sit down with food. OR I will be provided with food by my loving family.

And then I will stare at the food and realize. I cannot eat the food. I do not have the energy to lift the spoon/fork from the plate/bowl and put the food in my mouth. I do not have the energy to chew the food, and then swallow the food. It is all too much damn effort. its like asking me to get up and walk around the house for thirty minutes nonstop or climb up multiple flights of stairs. It feels like the same amount of energy all of a sudden.

Eating food takes effort, it takes energy.

And with conditions like chronic fatigue, sometimes you just don’t have that energy. And without that food, and the energy it provides, you won’t have the energy to make more food or eat more food the next day, which just compounds the situation.

(Am I making this post instead of getting up to make food, which I have been thinking of doing for 3 hours? Yes. does this mean I will probably not have the energy to eat my food when I do finally make it? well...probably? but maybe my sister will get down here soon enough to make it for me? who knows)

[chronicallyuniconic]

Did a thing yesterday, today I'm suffering.

Noone wants this. Absolutely nobody.

I feel alone in my body, only other chronic pain people know what it's like (ime)

Nobody can do anything to help it. I just have to sit with it, somehow.

These pains are eating me away. Joint pain, muscle pain, skin pain, just existing pain.

I can't speak today, only lay down & breathe slowly. I don't have the energy to push the words out, they come out in whispers.

The fatigue just takes me, I'm falling asleep allover the place. I cannot control it.

Nobody fucking wants this.

Why does this always happen when I'm just trying to live my life?????

Will I ever be unchained from my bed?

[mintbees]

Being young and disabled sucks so ass like I’m 21 I should be at the club