Admit it. You’ve seen a car park in the handicap spot and when you see the person walk out of the vehicle completely fine and normal, your brain says something along the lines of, “What the fuck?!? Something’s wrong with that picture!” I know you have done it because hell, even I have done it. But that’s when I was more close-minded about things.

I currently have a handicap parking plaque that I hang from my review mirror. I don’t always use it but I use it more than I thought I would. And perhaps you are thinking, ‘But you can walk fine. And I know you like to shake that ghetto booty and dance.’ I do and I can, just not always am able to physically. I can’t predict when my joints will bother me. I wish I could, it would make things so much easier to schedule my life.

Not only does arthritis dampen my ability to walk but my fibromyalgia does as well. It doesn’t take much “walking” when my back hurts so much that I want to cry. Even on my bad fibro days it’s hard to walk around the house. Sometimes I have to take breaks to get to another part of the house. Yes, it is that bad. Ironically, moving around is supposed to help fibro. But how can you move around if you can’t move?

Sometimes when I park in a handicap spot I feel compelled to limp so people don’t give me the stink eye. I can get caught up in worrying what people think of me. But most of the time I have a “go piss off” attitude and don’t even look to see if people are shooting nasty glances my way.

I like to think that my disease has given me a thick skin over the years. If someone happens to mutter something under their breath about how I shouldn’t need to park in that spot, I have no problem putting them in their place and going off on them.  Or if someone goes off about the government giving stuff to people that don’t need it, I have no problem turning to them and tell them they are wrong. Yes there are bad apples, but there are also some red, juicy, ripe ones in the bunch.

In the past I had someone tell me that my Lupus is the reason they were breaking up with me. It hurt being told by someone that you care about say that to you. I cried. But then I got angry. How dare he use that as a fucking crutch! A few years later he once again judged me on something I could not help. We are no longer friends. At times I miss his friendship and wish it had not needed to be the way it is. But I don’t deserve that shit and don’t need someone else bringing me down. I have my depression to do that for me. Hahaha!

*Interesting note: I began writing this blog post and then fractured my foot. Oh the irony….

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