I am repairing my mind. Are you doing the same for yourself?
Perhaps it is more necessary in some cases than in others. Those with a boat load of ugly memories to handle perhaps tend to focus inward, become more introspective, to monitor their thoughts with care.
My body hurts. Does yours? I feel it most keenly when the weather has ups and downs almost daily, or if a sudden shift in wind direction occurs, obliging me to stay in. Perhaps my body is more delicate than yours. Or perhaps we differ in body type altogether. I may wear a smile, but I am aching inside owing to a past which doesn’t bear mentioning.
I freeze inside if I’m challenged over a certain bar of contentment. How about you? My body wasn’t protected from the forces of evil in childhood, and now I must pay the price of having been maligned my whole life through. Unknowingly, I bought into it. I seize the day now to make up for it to the best of my ability, yet it isn’t enough. It never can be.
The difference between us is as close as a whisker or as wide as the gulf between planets. I am, perhaps, less easy to understand if one hasn’t suffered the degradation of knowing one isn’t loved by one’s parents, or welcomed by society once downed by ill health.
It is difficult to keep from diving into self pity, to linger until one is insufferably vacant of feeling for others. My body is unusually sensitive to light, sound, smells, to whatever it touches. Music can’t be overly strident for long periods or I weary from its tone. I used to love rock music, but now find I am like a little old lady, preferring the sedately paced tunes of my new collection.
I feel left out of the decision making process, in that people without feeling for the body type I was given have supplied me with too little to get by on and now would argue I get too much in the way of help.
I am sometimes lonesome, in that I seldom get out except to run errands or head for the clinic I must visit periodically. My body type requires more rest. It cannot tolerate being jostled in a crowd or aboard a bus without restraint.
My portion of the crowd all feel as if our lives have been stolen,our chances at success suddenly ripped away. We aren’t faking. Many of us worked before health’s collapse. We require more of nature in friendly terms, yet don’t wish to be a burden to those we love or respect. It’s a tough corner to be forced into, for without asking for help, we’d starve or simply fall apart altogether.
Jobs don’t exist to support people like us. I, for instance, may only sit up for brief periods, particularly when challenged by those weather pattern changes mentioned before. The condition I must care for constantly changes, from day to day. I may have a short time of better capability, but it is never enough to keep up with the crowd, certainly not within a busy work environment. I may crater suddenly, make mistakes due to fatigue which cannot be corrected with speed, or even fall asleep at the wheel. I can’t meet work quotas, nor stay awake past a certain point once fatigue sharpens.
This is my life.
What will become of me is up to the American public.
Please share this with your coworkers and friends. Please spread the word. If I am not to blame for the state of things in the world, let the world not knock me for becoming this way, otherwise I may suffer. Please build my strength. Show me you really care. Make known I must be cared for, that families often fail in this capacity, and that I myself always worked before my health’s decline.
Be merciful to me and my sister sufferers. Let us live in peace without fear our benefits will be cut even more than before. Please keep us afloat. Charities cannot help enough. In fact, they lack funding towards my care.
Please think carefully before voting.