Jan 30, 2025
What are you meant to do when your chronic illness or disability takes away the ability to do the things that make you who you are?
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What are you meant to do when your chronic illness or disability takes away the ability to do the things that make you who you are?
Do not fucking tell me you miss how I was as a kid. You don't know how I was. I grew up hiding myself because that was the only way you'd love me. I grew up scratching, hitting, biting myself, I grew up crying with my hands on my mouth, I grew up sitting on the stairs while everyone was on the couch.
I grew up by myself so you don't get to mourn a child you didn't grow.
I used to be so cool and all these hooooeeeesssss fucked it up. 😔
No one ever really speaks about mourning the versions of ourselves.
There used to be a version of myself that woke up early after 5-6hrs of sleep, fresh as a daisy and ready to tackle the day. Sometimes, even with only 3 hours of rest.
A version that drank freshly pressed orange juice and prepared buns with vegetables and chicken breast for lunch, who packed cut up veggies as a snack during work.
A version that went to work.
A version that cooked daily or prepared meals for the week.
A version that loved to bake.
A version that trained at home, but had no issue running around the block either if the walls came crashing down.
A version that was fit and healthy.
A version that could remember multiple 20-number strings for months.
A version that could walk around all day every day and didn't get tired.
A version that went out to party, had friends to meet up with and go on adventures.
A version that went swimming without letting the insecurities that circled in her mind get the better of her.
A version that wasn't afraid to walk on slippery ground in winter.
A version that could shower standing up, without fear of falling.
A version that wasn't inherently afraid of men.
A version that thought if something terrible happened to her, surely her family would be at her side and help.
A version that still possessed the hope that she was loved by her family.
A version that was full of optimism despite the realism keeping her in check.
When I look back, I feel grief for the girl I lost along the way.
I miss her.
I love her.
She's gone and I can't be her anymore, but I think about her all the time.
Another thing they dont talk about enough when you have RA.
Your handwriting.
I've had rheumatoid arthritis for about 15 years now. (It's a teenager!?) Even on meds, my fingers no longer fully extend and my thumb joint near my wrist is slowly migrated in toward my palm. My wrists are often swollen too. All of this makes it difficult to hold a writing utensil the same way and has thus changed my handwriting.
You have to adapt to the new you in so, SO many ways.
Im not who I used to be.
Im different.
I dont connect with people the same way.
I dont laugh as easily.
Everything I do costs something.
Sometimes it's so easy to fill my time with other thoughts, but today...
Today I am crashing in on myself.
Feeling like a distant memory
