When Things Fall Apart

That one time my body shut down around 350,000 of my closest friends.

Gentle Kitchen exists because sick people still have to eat and most food content wasn’t made for us. I’m Cassie: cookbook author, recipe developer, and chronically ill human. I make energy-aware recipes and kitchen systems for people whose bodies make cooking feel impossible sometimes. Subscribe for free for regular energy-aware recipes.

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I'm writing this from inside a flare. Not looking back at it. Not coming through it. Not improving. Not having learned anything useful from it yet. Just flat out stuck in it.

My brain feels like it’s drowning in potato soup whenever I try to think. My body is so exhausted that getting out of bed is really freaking hard most days. I have a list of a hundred things that need to get done, and every morning I wake up determined to do at least one of them, and then my body and brain look at me and say: No, ma’am. This is your life now.

This is what falling apart looks like. I’m not trying to be dramatic, but that’s really the only way I can describe it.

Photo by Rex Pickar on Unsplash

When you get hit hard by a flare, everything falls apart. Your physical ability. Your mental health. Your hygiene. Your housekeeping. Your work. Your relationships (well, some of them). Your hobbies. Your joy. Your confidence. Your financial security. Your self-esteem. It all falls apart. It crumbles. And every morning you try to pick up some of the bigger chunks and tape them back together into something resembling a life—or at least something that’ll get you through the day—and then every day (usually by 10am for me) it all falls apart again.

I knew this flare was coming. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen sooner. I was way overdrawn on my chronic illness checking account. We’re talking thousands of dollars of overdraft fees and a big, burly bill collector beating down my door at 3am.