I picked the title that I did because I wanted something engaging and evocative. There's something a bit forbidden about grouping those words together. They create a juxtaposition that feels slightly uncomfortable.
On the whole, one is not allowed to refer to oneself as beautiful. If you do, you are an arrogant or prideful piece of poop, that needs to be immediately ground down beneath someone's heel. There's a constant battle between those people, the haters, and the sensible ones who understand that it is an important part of your mental health to love yourself and find yourself beautiful.
What makes someone beautiful?
If you are the kind of person who offers a crying stranger a tissue, you are beautiful. If you see lost tourists forlornly clutching a map and point them in the right direction, you are beautiful. If you've ever given a token gift (their favourite sweets, a cute pair of socks etc) to a sad friend or relative, you're beautiful.
So basically, most people are beautiful. If you look at yourself and you think that you're not, either:
1: Change
2: Accept
Apply as necessary.
The aim of this blog is to explore what it means to be disabled. To live with a chronic, life-changing condition. But also for people who are going through something temporary. Something that is turning their life upside down and inside out, and they want to rant about it, talk about it, or just read something that sounds familiar to them.
If you're out there, and you identify with any part of this blog, get in touch. Share your experience. Be part of this fabulous, subversive little scene.
Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts
Wednesday, 11 May 2016
Tuesday, 10 May 2016
You have been terminated
After being ill for so long, it became clear to me that I was going to lose my job.
Apart from a couple of weeks here and there where I had struggled to go in, I had been signed off since the end of November, and it was now the beginning of May.
Some of my doctors, and a work liaison person who had been assigned to me, were confident that my job could be saved. I was much more realistic than them. I had a long talk with my regular GP to discuss my case.
A few things were clear.
1: I still lacked an agreed upon diagnosis.
2: My pain was still random in intensity. Sometimes I would have a mild ache for a few days in a row, but the excruciating bursts that left me confined to my bed would return eventually. The intense pain could last for an hour, or for days. It was this randomness that prevented me from agreeing even part-time hours.
3: The few painkillers that actually worked on my condition had side-effects that would prevent me from working to the required mental level.
And so it was that on the 3rd of May, I was officially let go.
Even expecting it to happen, I was hit by a wave of sadness the next day. This was a job that I had loved, with good colleagues, and I had planned to make a long career out of it.
Now I was unemployed, poor, and, like everyone, getting older. Only I had just passed 30, which seems significant in the context of employability. (Wrongly?)
To make sure I wasn't about to throw myself off a building, I had a long chat with a mental health community nurse, and we hashed out the things that I need to focus on at present. Career is just not one of them. But the time will come again.
Apart from a couple of weeks here and there where I had struggled to go in, I had been signed off since the end of November, and it was now the beginning of May.
Some of my doctors, and a work liaison person who had been assigned to me, were confident that my job could be saved. I was much more realistic than them. I had a long talk with my regular GP to discuss my case.
A few things were clear.
1: I still lacked an agreed upon diagnosis.
2: My pain was still random in intensity. Sometimes I would have a mild ache for a few days in a row, but the excruciating bursts that left me confined to my bed would return eventually. The intense pain could last for an hour, or for days. It was this randomness that prevented me from agreeing even part-time hours.
3: The few painkillers that actually worked on my condition had side-effects that would prevent me from working to the required mental level.
And so it was that on the 3rd of May, I was officially let go.
Even expecting it to happen, I was hit by a wave of sadness the next day. This was a job that I had loved, with good colleagues, and I had planned to make a long career out of it.
Now I was unemployed, poor, and, like everyone, getting older. Only I had just passed 30, which seems significant in the context of employability. (Wrongly?)
To make sure I wasn't about to throw myself off a building, I had a long chat with a mental health community nurse, and we hashed out the things that I need to focus on at present. Career is just not one of them. But the time will come again.
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