Sometimes, I'm tired.
Tired of feeling the ache in my left leg every time I take a step.
Tired of not knowing what kind of body I'm going to wake up with in the morning.
Tired of feeling a twinge in my knee and wondering if my leg is going to give out on me as I walk back from class.
Tired of scanning the pavement for black ice because if I slip and break a bone, it's possible that I'll never walk independently again. And I never want to hear those words again in my life, ever.
Tired of my ankle being sore.
Tired of dodging people, constantly having to be aware of my surroundings so I don't get knocked over.
Tired of the stares.
Tired of reflexively saying, "I'm okay," when I stumble, without actually knowing if I'm okay until I check myself over.
Tired of worrying about whether people will be inadvertently blocking the handrails on the staircases, because they take for granted that they can walk down steps without railings.
Tired of well-meaning people asking me if I need help, and answering for the billionth time: No thank you, I can do it.
Tired of wondering: Can I do it?
I know, deep down, that I can do it . . . but some weeks are harder than others. Some weeks, I'm just plain tired.
13 hours ago