I Don't Want To Die Yet But I Need To Know I Have The Option

There are days that the pain is so bad that I pray for sleep and I pray that I never have to wake up again.
Publish date:
February 26, 2013
death, disability, suicide

I mostly talk, and write, about the visible part of my disability, the wheelchair, the braces, the lack of physical strength. These are the things people notice and ask about, these are the things that mark me disabled.

However, I don't talk as much about the things you cannot see -- the pain and the fatigue. Not a lot of people ask about them, and they are, in a way, private. They are also the most difficult of my symptoms to explain.

I'm not tired like most people. I'm exhausted all the time, and if I try to stretch myself too far, my body will simply shut down, making it impossible to move my arms, so that I can't use my wheelchair, and my pelvis will dislocate, so I won't be able to sit.

This means that the pain will be much, much worse. There are times when the pain is so bad, I can't sleep, and instead just cry for hours until it is time to get up again.

Sometimes I'm convinced my body hates me, because whenever I'm settled in with my abilities, I will get an injury and lose a bit more function, permanently. Or I will get a new symptom I never expected to get, or my thyroid shuts down. And sometimes, I just feel ugly.

In a way, I think it is good to have these moments, they make the moments where I feel good about myself all the more precious.

But even though I'm really happy most of the time, and love my life and am fucking proud of the person I choose to be, I do hope I won't have to grow terribly old. And I'm pleased that I live in a country where I can make this choice myself.

There are days that the pain is so bad, I can hardly breath. Those days, I don't pray for the people around me, I pray for sleep and I pray that I never have to wake up again.

It rarely happens -- most days I'm really excited about the day to come, but frankly, dying in my sleep seems like a pretty good deal to me, so if it were to happen tonight, I wouldn't complain. For me, life isn't better than death. And sometimes, death seems preferable over life.

I didn't get to chose to live, it just happened to me. I never choose to get this disability, it just happened to me, all I can do is deal with it -- and I think I deal with it just fine.

I do the things I want to, but respect my body when it holds me back. I think I might be a better person for dealing with this, and it motivates me to make the world a better place for the generations that come after me.

I want to help to make the world a more accessible place -- I think this might be my goal in life. Thinking about this, and how I'm going to achieve it gives me a sense of urgency. Something to get out of bed for each day.

But what do I have to live for once I've reached that goal? It's unlikely I'll ever have children, and as much as I love my cats, they're not going to be around forever.

One of the things that give me great satisfaction in life, is having control of it. I decide where I work, or even, if I work at all. I decide what I wear, when I get up, when I go to sleep, where I live, what I eat, when I shower, and when I don't. I decide which goals I want to pursue, I decide on how I want to make my mark on the world. Those are the things that make me happy.

But the symptoms of my disability can be progressive. Every time I dislocate something, I could hurt that joint so badly it won't be able to heal any more. I will be in more pain, I will get fewer opportunities to determine what I do myself, and I will lose part of my independence.

This article originally appeared on xojane.co.uk. Read the rest here!