Okay, I guess it coouuuuld be argued that when someone prattles on for six thousand words (total on the blog so far), that actually does more to hide the point than point it out. What can I say? I ramble. But surely I can at least expect more than: “Heart condition? What heart condition? My god you must be a terribly troubled human to be writing like this.”
So for those who so grossly missed why I started blogging, let me provide a summary:
***
Its hard enough living with any kind of chronic illness. Its physically demanding and emotionally draining all on its own. But by far worse than any limitation, any disability, any symptom; is having people not understand, or worse, misunderstand (and there is a difference) your actions. When I don’t help out when we move houses, when I don’t help with the dishes, when I forget your birthday. When the people you share an office or a house with every day think you’re lazy, crazy, useless, unfit and forgetful, its crushing.
That’s why I write this blog.
***
SEE THAT. THAT THERE WHAT’S BETWEEN THE ASTERISKS? THAT’S THE POINT. THE POINT IS THERE. ^
Here, on the other hand, is a fun list of NOT REASONS why I wrote this blog:
- Because I’m depressed.
- There’d be no shame in that, but I’m good, thanks.
- I’m not coping.
- This is me coping, dickbag.
- I think my illness is the worst ever and no one is worse off than me.
- Pls see earlier post Struggle Street for you is Struggle Street for you.
- Because I really enjoy the male attention that I get by writing openly about my sex life.
- I 100% do. Not sorry. Still not why I write.
- Because having some of my closest female work friends think I’m disgusting, stupid and immature for writing about my sexual frivolities was fun.
- It wasn’t.
To be fair, I have to give a hella lot of credit to 99% of the people I’ve spoken to about this blog. You have all been so beautifully supportive and so many more people read it than I ever thought would. But a select few have decided (purposefully chosen word, ignorance is a decision) to take the most warped messages out of all this.
So, to the family friend who told my mother that I’m depressed, to the daughter of my co-worker who took Lets Talk About so far out of context that her Mum thinks I’m a sex blogger for giggles, to my step-siblings who had a go at me for not helping out on moving day, and to every other Tom, Dick and Wanker who feels the need to warn members of my family that I seem to be putting a bit much out there for comfort: you’re what I can’t cope with. You’re my biggest frustration, my worst enemy. You’re what’s stifling the thing that helps me by making me feel like I’ve done something wrong. Don’t worry, I’m too much of a stubborn bitch to doubt myself, but the next person who becomes the subject of your ignorance might not be so lucky with their character flaws.
xo
Invisible Squared 