What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
I hate being asked where I “work” or what I “do for a living.” Why? Because according to society’s standards, I’m a leech— I don’t or can’t work. Instead, I am physically disabled due to no fault of my own and unable to earn a wage.
I hate the impression this gives of me and many like me— lazy, ignorant, simple, stupid, dumb, entitled, sickly, and/or foolish. It is the farthest thing from the truth.
In fact, I am highly intelligent, have a scientific reasoning mind, love life and would continue to work (if I could), am as healthy as I can be given the diagnoses I face— barring the pain (and future) I endure with each new day. I worship my Lord, live joyfully with my family, and focus on tomorrow as it comes.
A Severe Chronic Pain Disease Disability does not mean a drug addict… or a criminal… and to equilibrate the two is the equivalent of arrogance in a self-serving society. Someday this world will see the difference and lives will change. I only hope I can watch it through the blindfold of agonizing isolation due to this irrational world’s paranoia.
I began my journey with an awful disease with caring providers, family, and friends. Now, I’m simply a NUMBER with that same awful disease who is trying to SURVIVE. But my providers and their colleagues treat me as a criminal or a potential one while I’m forced to provide those who I don’t even know authority over my treatment before I can RECEIVE IT.
Meanwhile, I’m bound by my word and legal contracts while they are bound by nothing but a puff of smoke— suspicion.
Can I work? No. Can I make a difference? I thought I could but sadly no. Not until someone with POWER (aka money) stands up for someone like me— the small insignificant person— who is being trampled and killed by the Mighty Big Blue Man called G.
And that’s what I hate the most. Having to need someone to fight my battles for me. Because in truth, people like me are only seen as a leech and leeches are burned off and eliminated unless they are helping to cure a serious wound.
So… well, what kind of leech am I to you, Mr. Powerful Man? Am I one you will help or destroy?
I guess you need to decide if the dying tissue of this social issue that I’ve sunk my talons into is serious enough of one for you to fighting for as well, huh?
Renee Blare Christian Author 