So, to preface, I am disabled and currently won't be released back to work, if even possible, until at least next year. I am currently going through a very intense, painful treatment right now, but I also do volunteer work with both a local rescue and the homeless outreach/citizen run social services. Also, animals just happen to be my passion. It's also trash day tomorrow.

So, anyways, tonight around 6:30 pm, I see that there seems to be a puppy that looked dead or poisoned in photos nearby and someone asking to help secure and help them. So, of course, I immediately jump in my car and have to deal with a language barrier ans my phone dying because I didn't think it would take as long as it did to find the location and didn't realize how big the location was. Blah blah blah. Anyways. So, I spent 2 hours walking the entire length of the wall and spreading chicken next to bushes that the puppy may have been seeking refuge in since it is cold and the OP had lost sight of him before I responded. Long story short, my phone died as I was calling my rescue to send out someone with a trap, my dumbass smart watch no longer wants to let me use the mic after the last update, the OP sent their husband out to the field because she couldn't get ahold of my rescue and on the way back to my car, I fractured my right foot due to it being pitch black with uneven and soft ground. I heard it crunch. I felt a bit of the pain but I was working on so much rage and adrenaline that I was able to drive home and collapse out of my car before relieving my cane out of the back seat. So as I was saying, I drive home so I can charge my phone and get my people out there and as soon as I get home, my grandmother, watching me fall out of my car, asks me to take this old school big ass TV to the curb for trash day. Now, mind you, I have herniated discs in my back currently so I shouldn't even be lifting that TV, but I told her that no, I very clearly could not do it because I fractured my foot.

Well, of course the guilt trip starts about how I am always sick or hurt whenever she needs help and how inconvenient my pain and issues are to her. Mind you, it was nearly 9 pm at this point. She had been out all day fucking around which her and my mother both seem to do whenever the next day is trash day since Tuesdays is the day to clean so trash can be taken out.

This happens a lot. And I admit that I am in a lot of pain a lot of the time or that I'm not feeling well a lot of the time, but yknow what? Her daughter, my piece of shit mother, is perfectly healthy and has been home more recently and she refuses to ask her to lift a finger. Only one of us is disabled. Only one of us only has partial function in one of their lungs. Only one of us has multiple herniations. Only one of us is getting electricity shot into their brain every day to try to find a crumb of serotonin. And it isn't that bitch.

So, yeah. My family believes that all of my issues are simply a manifestation of the ever constant inconvenience that I put on them for existing.