I’m beginning to think that our society kills more talented people than it fosters. Likely many are lost just due to the hurdles that people with any sort of chronic health problem face.
You tell me my only worth is how productive I am, how much money I make.
All I want is to be a productive member of society.
But again, and again, and againagainagainagain you block my path with the same old wall,
and it’s getting harder and harder and harder to keep scaling it.
And the only message I can take from it is that society doesn’t care whether I can be productive or functional because they see no worth in me, nor any need for me.
I wasn’t expecting empathy or understanding. At this point I have learned not to expect common human decency even. Compassion is something that I find to be lacking in our society at every level.
I did expect that there was some sort of expectation of me to become functional.
This, I see, is not true. Or perhaps it was once but then it took too much time and effort to acquire results, and the results were not optimal.
Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting the same fight. All I long to do is to give up and just let myself fade away.
However, there are others like me, and I can’t help but care.
It costs me almost everything I still have left—emotionally, mentally, physically—to care. No doubt I’d be much happier if I could curtail my caring to a select few. But my heart still beats and my eyes still see and my brain still thinks and I am angry angry angry at those who can do so much with so little time or energy or effort but who just don’t care to.
I do not want to become an imitation of such people.
I do not want to become that breed of monster.
And so I cling to my anger, and fuel it. For it is the only thing that stops me from sliding into apathy. It is anger that fuels my compassion and kindness, even if it may taint them at times.
Anger is the only thing that has kept me fighting for the past few years. Whenever I feel myself slip-falling-tripping into numbness, disdain, or worst-of-all apathy, anger is the only light I have that burns bright enough to keep me from dissolving into such uncaring shadows.
Still, I can’t help but wonder how much more I could do and be if I wasn’t held back by pain, depression, fatigue, low energy, and the constant battle with uncaring systems.
The truth is: things probably wouldn’t change much. I wouldn’t have any more power than I do right now. And there are always so many demands on time and energy that it is easy to keep using it and have nothing left for what you truly care about.
I have so little energy. So few usable hours. And so I am always, always conscientious of how I use it, and what and whom I want to use it for.
Dear Reader, all I want is to help. All I have ever wanted is to help people in whatever way I can. I do not want anyone else to feel as alone as I do. I do not want anyone else to feel as helpless as I do. I do not want anyone else to feel as vulnerable as I do. I do not want anyone else to have to live with the physical pain I do.
In my darkest moments I fantasize about switching roles and seeing those in power writhing in pain, crying for relief. I fantasize with glee the moment I tell them “no” or “denied.” I imagine them feeling lonely, helpless, vulnerable.
And then, my mind turns from such unrealistic, discomfiting images of revenge and malice to those who I know are hurting right now. They are the ones who matter. They are so much more important to me.
Reader, whatever society tells you about your worth, I tell you:
You Have Worth.
And you do not need to do anything to be worthy
of love and compassion and basic human decency.
I wish so much that I could put emotions into print so that when you read my words you can feel how much anger I have on your behalf, how much determination I have on your behalf, and the sheer capacity of love and kindness my cynical, worn heart can still hold for you and because of you.
You Have Worth.
Reader, please believe this, if nothing else.
You Have Worth.