A loose-acquaintance of mine just made an interesting comparison.
He compared my having to adjust the way I express myself to him having to adjust to living out of his car. Here’s the thing: HE CHOOSES TO LIVE OUT OF HIS CAR.
Please don’t compare your self-imposed lifestyle to my health-imposed body malfunctions and loss of my main mode of communication.
Still, I know he’s just trying to relate. He’s a good person who’s trying to connect. It’s okay.
These moments challenge me to be nice. To dig through the utter BS just thrown my way and recognize the good intention underlying it all.
Sometimes I do this sincerely, other times jokingly.
One night, my friends kept commenting on the fact that I was using my white board and how cute it was until I finally wrote, “I AM NOT MY DISABILITY.”
Clearly I was trying to be funny, and they laughed. At the same time, I was trying to send a clear message. There is more to me than this. So let’s talk about something else, kay?
It relates to playing the hell out of a “shitty” hand.
People will always say the wrong thing. I will always say the wrong thing. But we have to move on, and we may as well be nice and get along while we do it.