I was just asked by a friend if I could share how I define disability. Honestly, there are so many things that I could say about it.
You personally can’t define your disability. Your body does. Whether it be a mental or a physical illness, it’s your body that leads the way and you have no choice but to follow. I could fight my illness as long as I want, but at the end of the day I’m going to still have trouble living a “normal” life. I have no choice but to live with a bunch of medication in my pocket and a thing that I have to check my blood sugar with once a day. I’m no longer free to do whatever I want.
I have to step back sometimes and take care of myself before I work for others, which is something I’ve never really done before. I’m way too much of a people pleaser for my own good.
So much of your life depends on your health and most people don’t realize that until they lose it. Health means freedom, while disability means restriction. Whenever I’m feeling ok for the day, I allow myself to eat whatever I feel like eating. Whenever I feel sick, I sometimes end up eating nothing for several days at a time. That’s what happened the last time I ended up in the hospital.
With chronic illnesses, no matter how hard you try to hide it, it rears its ugly little head anyways. I still have people who are surprised that I’m on the verge of losing a major organ, but that’s just how my life is. I refuse to let my disability define me. I let my body do the talking of how things should be done.
If my body decides my large intestine shouldn’t be a thing anymore, then so be it. The idea of it still freaks me out, but there’s not much else my doctors and I can do other than listen to what my body is doing.
I’ll let the medicine I’m taking do most of the talking first, though.