I hate everything.
Okay. This needs to be said, and unfortunately I cannot broadcast it to the entire world.
I know that you only have the best of intentions when you see me. You feel the need to express to me that you aren’t like the assholes who treat disabled people like shit, you’re better then that. And if you expressed that in the way of just smiling at me in passing, or just offering a quick comment like the woman who walked past me and said “Oh, you are so strong” before continuing on her way, I wouldn’t mind. It would make me smile. Engaging me in conversation only to pry into my life and why I’m disabled is not the way to show you’re different. Actually, it proves that you’re exactly the same. You want to know why I’m an amputee, so you just ask. You don’t think about the fact that I’m in a goddamn grocery store and I might just want to buy some goddamn food without talking about an ongoing painful experience, because, by God, you’re curious.
Here’s a heads up. I don’t give a single gram of fuck if you want to know why I am the way I am. It’s none of your goddamn business. I might want to be able to step out of the house without having to tell people that, oh, I have one leg because I have cancer. I may not want to tell you what type of cancer, or when I was diagnosed, or when the amputation was. I do not care if you follow it up with “I’m so sorry” or “You’re so strong”. Those comments don’t mean shit to me once you’ve decided that satisfying your curiosity means more then my being able to walk out my front door without talking about something that has thrown me into a serious depression and increased my anxiety issues and physical pain for the last two and a half years.
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