My sister yelled at me today:
"You want to be treated like an invalid, like a, a, disabled person. I'm not going to, you're not a disabled person."
I am a disabled person. I screamed it down the phone at her:
"I am a disabled person."
But no, apparently I'm not disabled because I walked in town last weekend. This 'miracle' proves that I am not disabled. Forget the fact that I was in bed for several days after, and went straight into a wisdom tooth infection.
Oh, and my eyes burn too brightly these days, apparently. My sister said in our 'conversation' if it can be called that, that when we met up one time recently my eyes were burning at her like I wanted every word I said to be hung on.
Yes, that is true. My eyes burn this brightly in rage against what I am going through. Yes, I want my every word to be heard. Wouldn't anyone who has experienced wholesale rejection by everyone they once loved? I am so thankful I can say "Except my son." But what a weight on his shoulders. Wouldn't any human being imprisoned and beset by daily bodily tempests, ignored, rejected and isolated, burn too brightly. What was it Dylan Thomas wrote?
"Rage, rage against the dying of the light".
But that is not what I rage at, actually. My Dad did, when he was dying, but I rage at the fact that what I am going through is being treated as a death. I am not dying, and the light is still on!
Hellooooooooooooooooooo, I am still alive people!
Stop burying me.