I Look Healthy

I look healthy
until you see me have a seizure
or see me after I’ve had a few and I’m weak and nauseated and crying.

My disability is only invisible until it isn’t.

And I can’t decide whether I want people to understand that. My health, the state of my body and brain, is no one’s business except mine. But I should get credit that I push through day after day after day even when I am sick and sore and feel like it’s not worth it. And half the time I feel like I should wear a sign so the people who at least pretend to themselves that they are decent can realize that my fuel tank is empty. I do need to sit down on a seat on the bus. I do need to stop now—right now—and take a break. I can not attend just one more class. I’ve reached my limit.

Disability is exhausting. Learning to respect my body and it’s limits is exhausting. Teaching others to respect it is fucking impossible.