I don’t want to talk to you for a check-in
I don’t want your slew of inquisitive questions about my well-being
Which instead of demonstrating a sense of concern
Seems to be, you getting to look down on me and my life, from on top of your hill of privilege
Sitting in judgment
Weighing in on the relative severity of all of my hardships….
Assessing how I am faring at addressing them ….
And in what you view as your benevolent act of reassurance,
You issue me a report card, telling me that all in all, even though some things are bad, I’m handling everything well…
Who the fuck are you to sit in judgment and give me a report card on the way I’m living my life
I would never deign to turn around and say, to you, while your marriage seems like a sham and your partner seems like a pain in the ass, you seem to love them and you children sufficiently well….
I DON’T WANT TO BE FUCKING TOLD HOW WELL I AM HANDLING THINGS, things you are judging how bad they are from your insulated safe place, where you haven’t been touched by these things…
I don’t need your patronizing A for effort.
I am not complacent… I am extraordinarily proactive
Save your analytical examination and advice for yourself…..
Stop acting like your compulsion of overworking is some act of virtue… when it’s a prison of your own making
No life depends on you being on call 24/7, that’s your choice
You are not channelling all your available energy towards productivity….
So fucking draw some boundaries and take a break and stop fantasizing about the life of a person with a disability who doesn’t work as hard as you…..
It’s just as fucking exhausting being sick as it is doing all the so-called work that you do.
You create a world of “have to” of responsibility and duty that somehow is exempt, some how in unassailable from my judgment, that you could make better choices – where you should get a C+
You do little to improve your life circumstances, but as long as you don’t complain, as long as you focus all your energy on my life and my problems than it’s all off-limits… wanting to instead reassure me that I’m doing great in spite of all the difficulties….
To paint it all in rose
So you don’t have to face your own discontent, to reassure yourself that no matter how hard things might get for you, you will persevere just as you perceive I am doing, because human effort somehow overcomes all of life’s bad hand of cards.
Fuck off.
I didn’t ask for your reassurance, I don’t want your reassurance laced with judgment, I don’t want your inexpert advice that I didn’t ask for when I’m the fucking expert, and I don’t want to live in a dynamic where you’ve quietly endure your hardships because you have no choices, and I am weakling because I’m vocal of problems but doing a great job with my actions and you’ve deemed things are on the up and up….
You have the luxury to make choices that improve your life, you have an untapped power
But I spend every living day trying to painstakingly make the best decisions of myself, utilizing every ounce of available energy to keep myself alive…
So you are the last person I give a fuck of your assessment of how I’m fucking faring.
You fucking erase my pain, my hurt, my trauma… when all you can say is “you but you are doing a great job and seem to be doing so much better”
FUCK OFF.
I don’t want to be congratulating for persevering… laden with expectation that i have to always report to you everything i’m fucking doing to improve my circumstances, to heal myself, — why am i required to give you a status report… are you my fucking boss? Is this my performance self-evaluation.
Fuck off.
Inside My Madness 