I hope you feel better... A chronic illness blog and rant

I hope you feel better... A chronic illness blog and rant

“I hope you feel better.” It is met with a wet eyed stare. The please think kindly of my intentions stare. Followed or proceeded by “What happened to you?” The subtext, make me feel in my core this will not happen to me.

“I have a genetic disorder. I dislocate by moving.”

“But you will get better right? Right?” Their want for me to walk is so much stronger than mine. “Please please get better. You are making me uncomfortable.”

My mail carrier was almost in tears when I told her as gently as I could while balancing mail against a dislocated rib that no. Better is not for me. I will be like this and worse. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe mischievous of me. She paid me back. Minutes of fussing that things could always get better.

I was at least spared any talk of miraculous recoveries of far distant relatives.

“I’m so sorry.” She said it but I felt like I should have.

I was sorry. She was sad. I had burst a bubble of what could or should happen to non axe murdering people. She just seemed deflated and sorry.

I usually let people say get better. I will usually let people say whatever they feel like short of laying on hands and praying over me.

I am not fucking with all of you this happened in a Barnes and Noble. Someday I will find it amusing.

I tend to tell people I am a secret elite force fighter and I slipped during an important mission. That a bear and I had a disagreement. In San Francisco I have to qualify this, that no not my cohost but a bear with claws.

My family sometimes finds this funny other members think I am an ass. I can be.

I don’t want to be mean but it can feel exhausting to explain. To gauge a room on how far down the disability rabbit hole you can take a healthy person. Also I find it funny.

They keep waiting when I explain what I have. Their eyes are shining so bright and attentive. “But you still do all those things!”

Yes, yes I do. I am proud of it. I am proud that I have forced a life where I was afraid I would only find day time talk shows. I just feel like they are proud of me for the wrong things. Like wow did you see that golden retriever get its’ own leash? How utterly inspiring.

That’s the rub. The bar to becoming inspiration porn when you are disabled is LOW. I mean politics low. Like get a shovel and dig low. Like I could get over it in my wheelchair low. I want to be inspiring for a person. Not just for clearing the “she got up today and did some typing. My god her life is so bleak yet she still manages to be so, well so inspiring.”

Maybe I have some issues.

public.jpeg
Do We Chose Our Lives?

Do We Chose Our Lives?

What the Spoonie Is Reading This Month

What the Spoonie Is Reading This Month

0