When I was a child, I dreamt every day about finally being an adult. There were so many things that I wanted to accomplish; I wanted to go places, create things, fall in love, sit in the Oval Office...
Now I feel old. And it sucks. That's the problem with dreams — fantasy — it's not completely fictional, it just leaves out a lot of icky details.
Like getting fat. My entire life, I've been stick-thin. People wondered if I had an eating disorder; I kind of did, I loved pizzas, tacos, hot dogs, French Fries — all kinds of nasty fast food goodness. I never thought about consequences; as far as I was concerned, those were for everyone else.
It's much harder to lose weight being disabled. When I lived alone, it was easy to stay thin — I forgot to eat much of the time. 6'3" and 155lbs. But then things change, I got a few years older, and suddenly my pants didn't fit properly. What is it about living with someone that creates extra pounds?!
When I lived alone, I lost weight easily. Simply; I can't cook. Longer answer: I don't cook. Maybe I can, sometimes, some things, but I don't. I do other stuff. But people worry about me and bring food over to my place. That's okay; it's not every day. However, living with someone — she can cook — and suddenly I'm eating like I'm thirteen years old and active.
Being disabled adds a few facets. And maybe a few dozen pounds.
Complications... hmm? Well, my disability limits my movement, impedes exercise, retards that whole "staying fit" idea. Add in chronic pain, and you get that annoying depression sometimes. "I'm so sad... but there's food."
It's not just the women going for the ice cream and cookies — like on TV. I don't eat straight from the carton, however. And then there's the girlfriend: "Oh, poor thing... I'll make you something that you like for dinner."
'You like,' as in, 'too many portions that you'll devour anyway.'
I'm old now. I mean, not really... I'm sure some forty-something-year-old reading this at some point will think, "Yeah, boo hoo, oh no, you're almost a quarter-century old! Time to start choosing your casket."
"Yes, I get it. You're older... maybe even wiser (yeah, I'm sure), but being disabled is like aging in dog years; if I'm not careful, I'll get my ass handed to me by an eighty-year-old."
That's another thing that sucks; I can't run my mouth like I used to. I used to think, "So if I get into a fight, so what? Worst case scenario, he'll end up in the ER and, well, I'm a minor, so I'll just point and laugh."
Now I'm fat and old. Or at least that's how I feel. I'm not trying to get a surprise pity-party or gain undue sympathy, I'm just sharing my reality, as it feels. I walk from my car to the entrance of the supermarket — from a handicapped space — when I finally get there, I'm thinking, "Dang... where's a chair when you need one? Crap... my nice seat is back there, inside the car. Oops."
I think about how nice it'll be to finally get home again.
This blog, called "Bradtastic Defined," doesn't need a name change. It does need clarification. I am awesome, and brilliant; according not to my standards, but their's — people, the outside world. By "my own, personal definition," I'm now old, fat, and frankly, a little nuts. My life is chaotic; mentally I can barely keep up, physically? Forget it. I might as well try out for the US Olympic team; and I'm not referring to the 'Special' Olympics.
One thing I've noticed about disability in general is that it isolates people. I don't feel 'lonely,' exactly; I'm fortunate to have people in my life, and I don't mind being alone... but I know that I am somewhat outcast, and I see people pointing and giggling when they think I won't notice.
Everyone is unique; thusly, each disability is slightly different and hard to empathize with... unless you happen to be disabled, too. Is there a camaraderie, or some secret club for us to join? Not exactly, at least, I don't know.
Many perfectly-or-well-enough-abled people just don't care to understand. "Life is hard enough as it is," they might think, "why complicate it further?"
Irregardless of your own condition, you probably know someone with a disability. I ask that you take a small step toward sympathy: share this with someone, able-bodied or otherwise. We shouldn't feel alone... not with how things are in the world, presently. There is enough pain; too much pain.
And so often, a simple gesture or act of kindness goes undone, words unsaid, and the pain lingers on. Not today.
I'm getting too old for that.
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