To the person who sent me a nastygram

I am disabled.

My disabilities and my health issues, both visible and none, psychiatric and other types, hinder my various abilities in life. I don’t know what it’s like to be able bodied. I don’t know what it’s like not to have a disability.

Being disabled is hard. I sometimes lose things I love – like events I’ve been looking forward to for a year, friendships, certain aspects of freedom. I cope by talking about it.

Like a lot of people in my age demographic, I opened a Sarahah account. I knew I was taking a risk. But I got so many nice, sweet compliments and when I’d feel down, I’d read them and feel better.

But there’s always that one.

“You talk about your health problems too much and it makes you seem desperate for attention and pity. Grow up.”

I don’t do it for attention or for pity. I do it because it’s my life. I do it because it’s the reality of how I live. I literally don’t know life without being disabled.

I assume you wouldn’t tell someone who posted constantly about their kids they were desperate for attention and pity to grow up, right? After all, they live with their kids and see them every day. Most people are okay with people talking about their kids and don’t write them off as immature.

What if someone talked about their hypothetical job constantly? Again, they must be desperate for attention and pity, right? No, I guess not.

So WHY is it so taboo to talk about my health constantly? It’s what I live with every day. Juggling doctors, juggling appointments, finding the fine balance between what I can and can’t do is incredibly difficult. I talk about my health problems. I actually have been working on posting it less.

Disabled people are often put up on a pedestal to admire, we’re expected to be inspirational, we’re expected to defy the odds. But not all of us do. Not all of us defy the odds. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I don’t know who you were. I don’t know who you are. But please, just delete me from Facebook if you’re that annoyed with me talking about my life and existence as  attention or pity? I honestly don’t give a crap if anyone comments on my stuff. If anyone feels bad for me. I just want to talk about my life and my existence as it is.

And finally? Saying something like that anon, and telling me to grow up is actually hilarious. Pretty sure that means I’m not the one who needs to “grow up” if you’re sending anon nastygrams. There’s a delete or block button, and I suggest you utilize that if I annoy you that much.

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