I’m a chronic illness patient who spends most of her time between her bed & bathroom or shuffling to appointments. I’ve been doing this little dance for over ten years as an adult, and another six as a minor.
I’ve been called directly or indirectly: liar, cheater, attention-seeker, faker, hormonal, worrier, problem child, and difficult.
None of this is true. And it’s forced me to become not just my own advocate but a warrior in an arena I should never have been forced into. I’m done with it.
I’m fighting to survive and make a life for myself. My family and I have been doing so for years.
Don’t tell me I’m wrong about the medically verified diagnosis and information I’ve been given. Especially if you can’t even speak intelligently about my chronic illness. It wouldn’t serve you to underestimate me either.
I have a strength I never asked for but have gained through a long fight. A fight to survive, to have a life bigger than just surviving.
Don’t push me in a corner. Don’t box me into some construct you’ve created in your mind for me.
You won’t believe the fighter that gets back up and into the ring.
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