Different work: One hell of a realization

I thought I was just in an extended flareup, but it seems that this level of pain and debility is the new normal. I won't go into it because it's depressing and would do you no good to hear about it, but for one thing my grip is much weaker and for another the amount of pain that I have at baseline has roughly doubled since May.

I sat in my cockpit and looked around at the cleaning to be done, the patches to be made, the brightwork to be preserved, the engine to be mounted, all the work to be done -- and I realized, with a sick and solid certainty, that there's no way I can do this myself.

Sit with that for a minute. My home, my joy, my messy and imperfect slice of heaven, the only object that has given me a sense of purpose and a sense of the future... I can't do it by myself anymore.

Alternatives:
 Sell the boat.
 Get serious help.

There are huge drawbacks to selling. Apart from the obvious emotional havoc, it puts me right back into the desperate struggle to find a place to live in this area, in this economy, on my income. There is no real benefit to that, since it exchanges two versions of hell rather than improving the situation in any real way.

Getting serious help is problematic at best. I think I have nearly used up my friends’ tolerance for doing favors, especially since I could do so little in return.

That last phrase gave me an idea. It's a strange and scary one, but could be intriguing, if I find the right person.

Perhaps... well, perhaps I could persuade someone to help me with this in exchange for acquiring a share in the boat, a suitable sweat-equity proportion of whatever I make over my purchase price.

I'm as much in love with my boat as ever, but I realize that she is not, well, marriage material. If I'm going to settle down, it will have to be with something that can handle blue water, something that can ride through ocean storms and come out of them shaken, but not stirred. Fixing lines and replacing hardware is one thing; dealing with a shattered mast and a stoved-in side is quite another.

My beautiful little darling was made to be a bay-sailer, and none of us can help how we're made. She is perfect just the way she is, and I wouldn't have her any other way. I take considerable satisfaction in knowing that she will be righter and tighter for her next person than she was for me. While I'm happy with her now, I anticipate the day when I'm safely aboard my real home.

... Hum. I think those last two paragraphs were a little too self-revealing. In my personal life, I think I went through this stage about 10 years ago, and haven't found that "real home" yet. So I guess I shouldn't hold my breath, either for the partner or for the bluewater boat.

Seriously, folks, I cannot bear to surrender the life aquatic. Please believe, for me, that something wonderful will come of this. I can't believe it myself, and I don't dare hope. I can barely voice the thought.