If you see me or my kind somewhere on the street and have a chuckle with your friend, because “Well, look at that drunk. Haha.” I wish you had the perspective to think that maybe we have chronic illness. We did not choose to stumble and fall over, sometimes not, and wave around with our foots and hands seeking support. Illness just chose us.
Or disease judgement as we call it in Norwegian: “sykdom.”
It feels Kafkaesque. Or maybe like one of the scenes of judgement upon a character in literature. Because of the judgement, we just are not good enough. But we are. With the power of belief, as some say. With the power of yourself.
Leave a comment