#if I breathe too deeply for a doctor’s office my guts squelch. and make my ribs ‘fold’ around

[void-tiger]

There is just this rage that comes with realizing your body is just completely fucked while still outwardly looking Fine.

And then garnering the judgement of family who have convinced themselves you’re not trying hard enough.

And still waiting for a finished diagnosis to try petitioning for life-long physical therapy, pain management (that are NOT opioids when you can’t take nsaids, and you’re deemed too young for steroid injections especially as it is never brought up as an option), and ssi disability. Because what else are you gonna do. Especially when you’ll always be a burden. Capitalistic life isn’t designed to allow you to rest so you can still do Something within your limitations and not get injured, anyway. Or have energy left for yourself.

(No one is really clever enough to help, either. Is it even worth the risk to try contacting rehabilitation services when you need to stay on medicaid for a eventually-debilitating auto immune disease that has to have very expensive injections twice a month, all the while it’s the hypermobility that makes even being a student or hobbies or chores so iffy?)

And then trying to befriend some people. But there’s this wall there. They radiate concern. Sometimes affection. But I don’t want pity. (I don’t know how to accept actual sympathy to my face by their vibes and tone and body language, anyway.) I just want secure friendships. I just want—for once in my adult life, or my life period if including neurodivergence’s and the resulting cptsd from not even remotely accepting environments—to not be my Problems. Someone else’s Problem.

I just want to be human. I want to have fun and feel capable and not blunderingly or intentionally reminded that I’m not.

(Am I even worth being someone not pitied? Not judged? Will I ever be fun?)