Words.

I am disabled.

Disabled. It sounds so ugly. We are labeled this because we can’t do some things. No one can do all the things, but we get the stigma. We can blame “ableists” or whoever, but it’s on us, too.

I am uncomfortable saying I’m disabled. I have millions of negative thoughts flashing through my brain, telling me I shouldn’t. I don’t even want to admit it to myself. I am not the same as I used to be. I push myself to try to be, only making it worse.

I apologize. Constantly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there!” “I’m sorry I can’t make it!” “I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet.” “I’m sorry I haven’t reached out.” “I’m sorry I haven’t done it yet.” “I’m sorry I suck lately.”

FUCK THAT!

And the need to justify everything… the “I’ve been so busy.” “I’ve been in so much pain.”
Then justifying the justifications: “I had to do 8 ___, 3 ___, ___, ___, ___, ___, and ____, all while feeling like ____.”

NO!

This is ridiculous. I always do what I can. I’m kind. I’m supportive.

I’m a person.

I shouldn’t have to describe my struggles as a way of explaining why I’m not perfect. I shouldn’t feel guilty.

And that’s all me. I choose to justify. I make myself feel “less than.” I think about a future relationship and feel like I should come with an “As Is” tag. And it sucks. It hurts. But no one can change it but me.

According to my records, I am “disabled.”
However, it’s my decision whether I label myself, whether I justify, whether I apologize. People will see me how they see me, and I cannot choose how that will be, but I can choose how I see and present myself.

So, HI!
I’m me. I go by many names, but you can call me Duck. I do awesome things and can’t do some “normal” things. I am a mess, and I love who I am. I also love you, whoever you are. Genuinely.

And I am NOT apologizing for that.