I don't like being ill
I think I’m making peace with the ending to my story... Not in some elegant, enlightened, woodland-creature way or shit like that. I still hate this disease. I hate what it takes. I hate how weird my body feels. I hate having to think about things that used to happen without asking me first. Frankly, my autonomic nervous system has become a terrible roommate if I do say so myself. But I’m not angry every second anymore. Mostly I’m just sad and weirdly, that feels softer. I know where this road goes. I’m not pretending otherwise. I don’t need a miracle speech or a brave face or somebody telling me to “keep fighting.” I am fighting, just differently now. By loving people properly. By laughing when I can. By drinking the good things. By noticing the light. By saying what I mean while I still get to say it. By enjoying outside. By talking to strangers. By finding new music. There is something almost peaceful about not arguing with the map anymore. I don’t like the destination. But I love t...