Colour me in with permanent markers
The time to ring in a new era has come. Veiling my reality
will shortly be a sheer impossibility. So there's no use to
continue the sugar-coating.
I was fitted for AFO's (Ankle Foot Orthodics) on Wednesday
this past week, marking the end of my physically
independant existence. Two weeks prior I was
unceremoniously given the full extent of the damage.
Degenerative neurological disease is pretty cruel,
especially when one also suffers from severe cases of
denial and neuroses, but I digress. A cane, scooter,
counselling, and unmistakable stigmatization were also on
the list of recommendations/future inevitabilities I
recieved on that fateful February 25th.
There it was in the cold hard charisma only a doctor can
deliver. My dimming future served on a silver platter. At
the same time, probably the best fucking thing that can
happen. Although I can't and undoubtabely won't see it for
quite some time. No more hoping people won't notice, none
of that. It'll be out there, flapping in wind. Maybe
eventually I'll even learn to stop disgracing myself and
find the elusive path towards acceptance. Maybe.
But optimism isn't a factor at the moment. I'm about to be
tagged 'defective' and thrust back out into the perfection-
oriented gauntlet. No one deserves the mental anguish I am
on the eve absorbing.