There are many struggles that come with having a chronic illness, but that doesn’t mean I let it take over my whole life. I work each day to live normally without drawing attention to my challenges – except when someone I know needs help moving, then I remind them I have major physical setbacks and get out of that shit no problem.
Although I am learning to live with my illness, I consider myself to be so much more than that. I enjoy painting, decorating my home, and I’m obsessed with hiking. I don’t let any limitations keep me from doing the things I love. Basically, I slay at life. However, I have no qualms with referencing my diseased body when I hear someone is getting ready to move. What are they going to do, challenge a sick person?
I’d like to see them try!
I have a very positive perspective, and am always grateful for being alive and living my life to the fullest. But when too many people in my life were putting out requests for moving help I was like, “How could you impose on a poor ill person to help with carrying even your linens?”
My best friend Jenna is my biggest champion throughout all this. She recognizes that I am an independent person who hasn’t changed much since finding out I was sick. However, Jenna recently changed apartments and while she graciously didn’t ask me to help move her stuff, she did ask me to watch her dog while people helped her move.
Uh, what the fuck?
I couldn’t believe she would impose on me, a sickly infirm, to sit there and be responsible for a living thing. Some people are so goddamned selfish.
The more I think about it, why am I hearing about people moving at all? It feels like a personal attack on my extreme lack of mobility. I can hardly move down the street let alone help move their shitty Ikea Kleppstad wardrobe into their fourth-floor walkup! Moving is the absolute worst, and now they are asking a feeble invalid to help with it?
These fucking monsters have got to be kidding.
I suppose, for now, I will try to focus on the positives. I will continue to girlboss, juggling my chronic illness with living my best life. I refuse to let my disability define me, and no one can tell me what I can’t do. Except I can tell myself I can’t help people move, as that is obviously out of the question. As are baby showers, game nights, cooking, and brushing my teeth.
