Let’s Talk About Somethink Serious.

Disability is a curious object. And I say object because I don’t yet associate my crutch (no matter how sparkly) with my physical ability to get out the house. It’s somewhat like an impermeable glass box that one sits in, looking out. You have no choice at to how you are viewed or how you are responded to. On the off chance someone is paying close attention, you might be able to write a message on the glass in spit and breath on it…but even then… Your message can get lost. I speak for myself here, obviously. Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice, is the way that others view me, friends close to my heart that I have known for long periods of time. People whom I have known for the most intimate and most fragile of moments.

Panda is a prime example. Being a tad “perculiar” himself, he is a creature of habit. He is very used to me being a certain way mentally but, above all physically. I have had my crutch for 3 months now and, yet, it remains an anomaly which is, somewhat, irrelevant. Asking for help to get out of the bath is seemingly lazy. A mix up of words is idiotic. The crutch is a take it or leave it accessory. Thank god the man walks so slowly otherwise it would be another irregularity that the time it takes to walk from a. To b. suddenly doubles. He is the most prominent of examples I have.

Curiouser still is ones own understanding of oneself. Who am I; how do I deserve to be treated, how much pride is too much pride and how much self-consciousness is too much, how little assumption is not enough?

I am currently navigating a map of re-self discovery. Where once I could confidently stand and walk alone; I have to accept my limitations. Where once I could assume the best; I have to explain the best. Where once I could accept the norm; I have to persist on the abnormal. And I mean no disrespect to those whom understand their existence within “special needs” or “disability” or…see…I don’t even get where I stand on how to refer to myself!?

Anyway, I do not mean to disrespect others whom see their existance as the norm for them. It is not the norm for myself.

I worked 20 hours a day, I cycled 4 miles a day, I did a full time uni course, I swam regularly. Only 8 months later, I have to notify my best friends when I’m gonna fall over if I don’t sit down. I have to ask my lecturers for a spinning chair in case they move beyond my line of direct sight. I have to ask people to repeat things several times a day. I have to explicitly say to people “please stop because I can’t keep up; don’t leave me behind”. I have literally urinated down my leg in front of my best friend due to standing too long and having my lady-garden go curiously numb. They are so used to who I was before. Because they’re not used to who I am now. Because I am not used to who I am now. I am as much an aggravation to myself as my infuriation must be towards others who can’t read my mind.

Going from who I was to who I am not really is demonstration of: “you don’t look sick”. Sometimes “I don’t feel sick”…but it’s because, before, I wasn’t. Before, I could go from sitting to standing without wondering if I would piss myself.And it’s the first thing that jumps to my mind.

But I am sick. I would dearly like to remember that on the days when I’m feeling too proud.

“I am sick.”

Sorry for the Debbie-downer, lads. But it’s not all laughs and chuckles! 

To be continued.

P.

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