I am here to deride your ableist hobbies: your jogging, your yoga-ing, your slouchy posture when you lean against a wall or sit on the ground. the almost majestic way you “take the stairs.” Everyday, I hate these things you do so effortlessly. And every day I envy you them. My first thought is that you are a very selfish person. My second thought is that I am. Subsequent thoughts, if I shared them, would speak of some minor psychosis, so bizarre and twisted and fantastical are they.
You may now be experiencing pangs of shame or pity. Don’t. I mean you no harm. I love you, as a person. You are bright and curious, and your sense of humor keeps me rolling. You’re like my sister, my closest friend. My confidant. I’m relying on you to tough it out, laugh more than you think is appropriate for the subject matter (because I sure as hell am), and always be as real as best you can. That, folks, is what they call a codependent relationship.
And know, in your heart, that I make this wheelchair look SEXY.