Writing by hand is a feat of epic proportions these days. To hold the pen. To form the letters. To string together the sentence. To push through the shaking and the weakness. But there is something magical about putting ink on paper. Somehow more permanent and tangible than anything typed on a keyboard. Something that makes the building ache in my arm all worthwhile.
These are the words from my first attempt at a Dysautonomia awareness video.
Writing them out again reminds me once more that I am NOT my illness. Each letter, each word, proof that I am much, much, more.
Writing them again allows me to extend my middle finger to Bob (Dysautonomia). I may be shaking. I may be tachycardic, but I wrote it all out.
Kiss my pasty 38-yr-old arse, Bob.