She is in the woe is me Olympics. Somebody I’m very well acquainted with has been on palliative care in the last year, and got themselves out of it, they felt exactly what she’s feeling, couldn’t hold a book it was too much for them, couldn’t even brush their own hair, for more than a few seconds at a time and didn’t go making announcements about it, they were too weak and close to dying to do that. Pissa isn’t at that point yet or she would be on palliative care or in the icu. It’s uncomfortable to hold the book cause she’s fucked her body up from poor health and no exercise but if she were smart she would start doing some bed exercises like my friend and build her health up . You can belly dance while lying down, near death, just flex those muscles along to some music and build up a whole bunch of core strength fast. Do tiny leg or arm lifts, whatever you need to do, but you don’t rot away in your home and give up unless you want to give up cause it’s easier. She gets enough stimulation complaining about life and dreaming about lofty goals that she’s not living at all in the present.
She wants to climb Everest before she can walk. And lament that she can’t instead of rehabbing herself and putting the work in to slowly change. She wants it handed to her instead so it’s “fair” cause she’s so labeled and special and different.
She’s a poor little me and if she had any interest or quest for self improvement she would have discovered it by the age she is at now and straightened it out. Some people get their power by playing the victim, if you look into transactional analysis and life scripts, the work of psychologist Eric Berne it’s a whole damn archetype named poor little me. They often go crazy in public later in life to embarrass their husband who they spin as the perpetrator and use as the rescuer.
