“Some days, I want to scream,” I typed, fearful of how my friend would respond. But I pressed on — albeit hesitantly — until the text box on my phone filled with a litany of complaints. “I get so tired of my body not doing what I want it to do.” “I get tired of having full use of only one hand.” >“I hate hiking because I always lose my footing going downhill.” “I hate feeling self-conscious about being barefoot around other people.” And then I pressed “send,” wondering if my friend would judge me for having days when I absolutely despise living with multiple health conditions despite openly writing about them on the internet.
It’s those days when I feel like a living, breathing dichotomy. I’ve been disabled since birth, and I’m mentally ill. I’ve spent five years writing about embracing my medical life and encouraging others to accept their health conditions, but sometimes, I feel my own internalized ableism taking over.
I feel angry at myself for not being able-bodied, frustrated with myself for struggling with anxiety and depression, and unhappy with myself for simply not being the most healthy, “productive” member of society.
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