My mind is generally willing – gogogo! Get things done! The cosmos are the limit! Yay all the knowledge!
My body has a more practical view of things. Slow and steady, easy does it, maybe not all at once. But it does what it can to keep me here – so I’m thankful, even as I feed it things that soothe my emotions more than my well-being.
Together my Mind and Body help me Be: full, vibrant, whole in mySelf and my disabledness. Sometimes they’ll even allow some Greatness in all that too.
The thing about being disabled though, that they don’t tell you about in the brochure, is: you’re disabled.
There is no dressing it up, no swapping it out, no making it other than what it is. You’re dealt a body or brain or what have you that is not the norm, in a society that abhors anything not ‘normal’. Sometimes I ‘forget’ that I am not quite like everyone else. My mind figures that just because I do my things different, doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It’s just different.
Different is ok.
And so me doing my things different is fine. It gets done same as yours… but you know… different.
I got 21 meals prepped today. I did the planning, the shopping, the orchestrating, the coordinating.
My reward in all that is I will be fed for the next few weeks and you all get pretty pictures of the journey. My hands never touched a shopping cart for the shopping or a pan for the cooking but my fridge will tell you it’s full. And so has been my life: doing things folx say I shouldn’t be able to do. Making it look effortless, easy. Magick.
But there’s always A Thing that reminds me that I Am Disabled. That my limbs aren’t able. That my mind won’t ever be able to compensate enough for what my body can’t do. Always.
It’s not the same every time or appears in the same way. Sometimes it’s overt like a peacock strut. Other times it’s subtle, barely perceptible. It’s read between the lines level, did that just happen? level stealth.
But whenever I run across it, I know it. I recognize it in my bones. I stare at it with blank eyes, wondering how many pounds of flesh it will require to get through the mindfuck of seeing and realizing exactly how disabled I am this time.
What I will be denied this time.
What I will be on the outside of this time.
How, in detail, will a piece of my soul will be excised this time.
What my living death eulogy will consist of this time.
How the sky will look being buried under these emotions this time.
How long will it take me to emerge this time.
What form and shape will I be in this time.
How many more times after this time…
It’s something other than sobering. More profound and singular.
It is exacting.
It is raw.
It is unadorned.
It is rough.
It is hard.
It dims a bit more of my light every time it happens.
And there’s nothing I can ever do to change that it happens or that I’m disabled.