Living With The Sick.

Well-being and constant health do not really describe my household. If you go back just one generation to my grandparents you are met with alcoholism, tuberculosis, and Alzheimer's Disease. With their children (my parents and uncles) it doesn't get much better. My uncle on my dad's side had polio as an adolescent and has been left with a hump and breathing problems ever since. My other uncle appears to suffer from a nervous tick of some kind. My parents each have their own conditions, my father is a diabetic and compulsive worrier and my mother suffers from bi-polar and a fair degree of dementia.

Myself, I have an auto-immune disorder known as PRP (Pityriasis Rubra Pilaris). I also suffer from chronic leg pain as a result of an accident where poor judgement on a driver's behalf catapulted me thirty of so feet off my Vespa. My younger brother is currently dealing with a hernia and a stomach infection that first appeared to be ulcers, but is something else.

I'm not complaining, I just want it to be perfectly clear to everyone that I know very well of what I speak when I say that there's a certain degree of resiliency required to live within my house. For all our ailments not a single member of my household makes an excuse for what's wrong with them. We deal with it the best we can. In my mother's case it's difficult because she's not aware that there's anything wrong with her. As a member of the family I am well aware that she's slipping. She will ask me the same question four times in succession, and is unable to retain any new information. It's maddening and saddening to deal with, make no doubt about that.

What drives me nuts is the people who feel like the world owes them for the crap that's gone wrong in their life. That somehow because of their issues they require pity or recognition. While I've certainly dealt with depression as a result of my condition I do not present myself as a sick individual, no matter how sick I may be. I feel it is my responsibility to myself, my friends and my family to cope with my condition as best I can. It's up to them to react how they will, and when I'm lucky it's with a mix of indifference and broad understanding. I cannot ask them to understand how I feel, that's impossible. I think given the circumstances they handle my condition fairly well. I may not be a fantastic example of what's considered more acceptable, socially. I do not ask for help often, if at all. I would sooner throw out my back out trying to lift something than to get a second set of hands (yes I've made this mistake in the past).

What I've been forced to learn as a result of my accident is that I can't do the same things I was once able to do. I cannot lift the same, move the same and endure the same as I could two years ago. I've been robbed of pieces of my physical self to a point where not even willpower is enough to make up the difference. Work, for example has proven to be very painful on my leg. Simply standing for four hours at my shift nearly brings me tears. I'm no stranger to pain and discomfort, for nearly two years I was in a state that can best be described as having the chicken pox and the worst sunburn imaginable at the same time. Believe me when I say work makes my leg hurt.

This is really the first time since my accident and my diagnosis that I've put down in words exactly how this whole situation has made me feel, and how it makes me feel towards others. I am angrier now then I was before. I am angry at the fact that something's wrong with me that I have no power over. Angry with the realization that like my uncle I may be alone for the rest of my life as a result of a medical condition. Angry with people I thought were friends who were too self-absorbed to understand that a friend of theirs was going through hell. It's made me resentful of a lot of things, feelings and people. When I get short or snippy with my family or friends, it's not because I'm genuinely upset with their words or actions. Some days I just don't have the emotional fortitude to deal with a world beyond myself.

I don't report to all my friends that I feel this way, it's not their burden to carry, it's mine. You can understand why then I get upset at people who do lean on others so heavily, or those who seem to revel in their sickness. It's infuriating to people like myself who keep aspects of our lives personal.

And on a bit of a tangent here I'd like to state that I dislike people who say they're bisexual. In general I am ill at ease with people of non-traditional sexual orientations. Honestly I'm fairly ill at ease with people of traditional sexual orientations as well, but I've already spoken of that. I could go on for pages and pages about it, but I've also learned that people go to all sorts of odd lengths to achieve happiness, and if that means you have to love both men and women as sexual partners then so be it. I accept those people, but I don't have to like their choice.

I think that's something that the media doesn't quite clarify. Acceptance doesn't mean approval. I accept people's choices, because it's their choice to make. I won't be friends with members of the "Pride" community, but that's my choice. I won't egg them or terrorize them. I have no interest in telling them they're wrong, but in the same way I avoid the highly religious and in your face about it types, so too will I avoid the flamboyant and "alternative". I do admit there's a strong sense of jealousy in my anger, I make no attempt to hide it. I am envious of the fact that there are people out there with the "luxury" to love whomever they choose, when people like myself who have been robbed of their physical appearance are left alone.

I think this post got a little dark, but so often when you shine the light on a subject you cast a shadow behind you.