Salon.com elevated an OS post to its main site today, and it is yet another sob story from someone who has anesthetized themself with drugs and alcohol just to cope with mere existence.
Call me heartless, call me cruel, call me whatever you want, but this is the straw that broke my back. I'm fed up, and can't bear to read one more essay from somebody who doesn't appreciate how lucky they are just to be able bodied.
When I was nine years old, I was suddenly afflicted with crippling rheumatoid arthritis. In 1972, at age 15, I became the youngest person to have a bilateral hip joint replacement procedure. Since then, nature's caprice has seen fit to give me more maladies: ankylosing spondalytis, Sjogren's Syndrome, early-stage renal failure, type II diabetes, and many attendant complications. I've spent a good portion of my life in hospitals and doctors' offices. I am physically and financially dependent on others. The only time I ever leave my house is to go to yet another doctor's office.
I should have been an alcoholic or druggieholic ten times over by now, but I'm neither.
You can get up every day, take care of yourself and do anything you want.
Life is hard for you, bubbie baby? Well boo-effin-hoo. I don't wanna hear about it. I'm busy dying.