De facto can’t. Physically disabled in social isolation and too easily harmed by such physical interaction. Like right now I wake up after only sleeping 5 hours. My spine feels like a twisted towel. I can barely move. I write a few words at a time with long pauses you can never see between the words as I try and twist and turn against the pain until I can get up through the tears. And this is a good day. One of my best. I am haunted by the knowledge of how fast I am degrading and what that will mean.
I come here to escape that reality. Here is the only place I can exist as me; as some simulacrum of who I was because in the real world I am a hollow shell in extreme pain, ridiculously fragile. I don’t want to make anyone watch me fall apart. I have nothing to offer anyone but burden. I can’t be fixed. I can’t get anyone to even fully diagnose the problem. Such is life after barely surviving a broken neck and back. Sex would be suicidally inducing levels of frustrating and I could never sleep with someone else in a bed with how I must move around constantly to keep from locking up entirely and losing my remaining mobility. So while there may be some element I am drawing on from such an emotional place that rings true to your accusation, there is nothing I have that can back that up. Reminding me of this is a little hurtful. Like telling me I can’t exist and oppressing the last outlet of humanness that remains a thread of me that did not die at the hands of a terrible driver while riding a bicycle to work 2/26/14
j4k3@lemmy.world 2 months ago
De facto can’t. Physically disabled in social isolation and too easily harmed by such physical interaction. Like right now I wake up after only sleeping 5 hours. My spine feels like a twisted towel. I can barely move. I write a few words at a time with long pauses you can never see between the words as I try and twist and turn against the pain until I can get up through the tears. And this is a good day. One of my best. I am haunted by the knowledge of how fast I am degrading and what that will mean.
I come here to escape that reality. Here is the only place I can exist as me; as some simulacrum of who I was because in the real world I am a hollow shell in extreme pain, ridiculously fragile. I don’t want to make anyone watch me fall apart. I have nothing to offer anyone but burden. I can’t be fixed. I can’t get anyone to even fully diagnose the problem. Such is life after barely surviving a broken neck and back. Sex would be suicidally inducing levels of frustrating and I could never sleep with someone else in a bed with how I must move around constantly to keep from locking up entirely and losing my remaining mobility. So while there may be some element I am drawing on from such an emotional place that rings true to your accusation, there is nothing I have that can back that up. Reminding me of this is a little hurtful. Like telling me I can’t exist and oppressing the last outlet of humanness that remains a thread of me that did not die at the hands of a terrible driver while riding a bicycle to work 2/26/14