Post-Its
Your time is likely in demand and a letter may feel too lofty of a goal. If you’ve got a grievance to air, bone to pick, or (even) a milestone to celebrate with a problem that’s been plaguing you; try externalizing it with a Post-It note instead.
Some days, I feel defeated. You’re like a brick wall blocking my path. I begin to worry about what my future may hold. It’s difficult to keep myself from comparing my journey with those of my peers. Do you ever get sick and tired of making me sick and tired?
Are you telling me that I’ve been lazy? That I’ve gotten weak from all of the sitting that my job requires of me?? I cannot help but feel that this is a personal affront and the pain is hurtful enough… Back off!
Stop messing with my eyes! I’m doing the best that I can to keep glucose levels in range, so please – leave my retina alone?
I feel the toll as a therapist of these last 30 years navigating, the effects of so-called experts diagnosing your personhood; but I remain loyal to your experience and hold deep compassion for your journey. I thank you for your trust in our work together.
For the most part I have grown to live with diabetes in peace. Bi-polar is harder to accept, as it is insidious in its attacks.
But MCI. MCI, you have taken away hope and confidence. You have tipped the scale in my ability to cope.
In you, I had hoped to find an identity; but your name is too often loaded with assumptions and stigma. Each of us belongs along a spectrum – both in sexual orientation and in gender identity; but language is static. You, my most commonly self-selected label, are static…
Can you not be silent for a day? I just want one day free, forget that, one hour free from the horrible pain that you inflict.
You really come in all shapes and sizes, don’t you? No wonder you’re so freaking hard to diagnose and treat. You and I are NOT friends. YET.
Last time was supposed to be the last time… How did we end up here, again?!?
As if bleeding for 6 out of every 28 days wasn’t punishment enough! With you arriving nearly a week beforehand, I’m on edge; finding it exceptionally difficult to concentrate; experiencing rapid changes in mood; insomnia; and craving foods that inevitably make it all worse… Monthly, I can’t help but wish I had a penis instead.
You’re making it harder than it has to be. Harder to think, harder to function, harder to breathe… Step-back already!
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