Even now, before I head to bed, I am reminded.
I try to ignore the pain as much as I can. I had one person tell me once that I was brave, that I was a strong person. I like to think of myself as stubborn.
I once had a doctor tell me that I should be in a wheelchair, that I shouldn’t be walking. He told me that I should go on disability, that I was disabled. I told him that I perfered to think of myself as different, not disabled.
And sucking off of the system would be so boring.
He told me that I could get a perscription for pain killers if I wanted them. I had to think about this one for a moment. Live without the pain? Was that possible? I had lived with it all this time, could I live without it, or would I miss it like an old friend?
I almost consented to taking them, to drugging my body so that I wouldn’t feel the pain, the spasms. But then I wouldn’t be living, right? I wouldn’t be alive. Sure, I’d exist, but I wouldn’t be living.
And that would be a terrible shame.