January Was A Tough Year But We Made It

everyone's like wehhhhh why doesn't doctor house gets suuuueeed! like my man. literally every patient he sees is someone that's been trying to find a diagnosis for ages. i could live with a little medical malpractice if it were coming from someone ready to break into my home to look for allergens and not simply half heartedly listen to me before suggesting I lose weight and take ages of back and forth arguing to order a single test

thirty-four

bday comics: thirty-three

AN: I have an acquired brain injury, and always have a lot of feels about it on my birthday! so, disability bday comics are now a thing :)

[ID: a ten panel comic drawn in simple black ink with messily drawn borders.

One - I sit cross-legged on a sofa with an open laptop in front of me. Text reads: "And what do you do for work?" "I'm on disability." "Oh. And is it permanent?" "I mean. It's been over four years since my mTBI."

Two - Frame zooms in showing just my torso and chin. Text: "So yeah, probably."

Three - I sit forward on the couch with elbows on knees and chin resting on folded hands and sigh. It shows my whole body. I am a white non-binary person with a curly mullet, glasses, and wearing a t-shirt and ripped jeans. Text: The doctor calls me "dear" as she ends the call. It's been a long year."

Four - I stand and walk away. The image shows just my legs and the couch behind me. Text: When I first got injured, permanency was the scariest possibility. The idea of a lifetime of pain and fatigue made survival feel impossible.

Five - I stand holding a cupboard open, my back to the viewer. The open cupboard shows that it's very full of mugs and tea supplies. Text: It's not so scary, anymore. And it no longer feels just like surviving.

Six - A close up shot of a kettle steaming. Text: There's still grief, trapped under my ribcage. But I think there always will be. I've had to put away so many dreams, said goodbye to who I once was.

Seven - Close up shot showing hot water being poured from the kettle into a handmade mug. Text reads: But in the space left empty, new things have grown. New hopes. New dreams. New understandings of myself.

Eight - Close up shot of my hands holding a steaming mug of tea. Text: This injury might be permanent - but it might not be. No one really knows for sure. I love my life. I love my body, and my brain, all the messy disabled parts of it.

Nine - A full shot showing me sitting on my sofa again, and holding a large blanket out in front of me, as if getting ready to wrap it over my legs. Text: If this is the rest of my life, then what a gift to live it. I'm not done growing, hoping, grieving, healing. Still trying, and trying, and trying.

Ten - I sit on my sofa with the blanket wrapped over my legs, leaning against a cushion. I am sketching in a ringed book held on my lap, and my tea mug rests on the blanket beside the book. I am smiling slightly and look content. On the wall behind me is a quilted progress pride flag. Text: It's messy, complicated, and beautiful. But isn't that what life is?

The comic is signed h. graves '23. End ID.]

so ready for this gi doc appt to be OVER.

t-7 minutes

In that mood where I scour social media and the general internet in hopes my stepfather is finally dead 🫠🙃

He never is. Fucker.

the fact “doctor shopping” is a term that exists at all is constantly fucking insane to me. imagine if that existed for any other profession. imagine if you went to a mechanic and told them your car was making a strange noise every time it started and they said well that’s actually not a big deal at all and it’s totally normal and you’re overexaggerating the issue so you can get car parts you don’t need. and then you left and told your friend you were considering looking for a new mechanic because of that and they were like ummm why are you mechanic shopping?? you can’t just go around to different mechanics until one tells you what you want to hear. obviously if that mechanic said your car is fine it’s fine! and you’re like oh ok i guess so you just keep driving your car like normal and then two months later it explodes and nearly kills you. now you have to pay for your medical bills AND a new car. also the mechanic that told you everything was fine is deemed completely unresponsible for this and you still owe them 300 dollars for telling you your car was fine and also all your friends STILL think you’re overreacting for wanting to find a new mechanic after the last one nearly got you killed

ima be honest if I wasn’t bipolar I’d conceal carry. I am so fucking done with abled people assaulting me and getting away with it. If you threaten my life casually I should be allowed to return the favor. get the fuck away from me. don’t fucking touch me. don’t fucking grab me. don’t fucking push me. I am a pipe bomb. I will kill both of us I swear to fucking god

abusive dad, approaching at random: WHY DIDN’T YOU GET THIS THING DONE ALREADY?!

me: what? you didn’t tell me to do it

abusive dad: DOES EVERYTHING NEED TO BE DRAWN OUT FOR YOU?? YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO BE TOLD!! HOW OLD ARE YOU?? CAN’T YOU DO ONE SIMPLE THING??

me: so you can’t even be expected to tell me when you want me to get something done? i’m supposed to read your mind?

abusive dad: YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO KNOW!!! WHY DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING?!!

me, internally: wtf even is this. was this just an excuse to scream at me. ah. thats what it was.

I really cannot emphasize enough the mental health benefits of abandoning the idea that you're special.

disabled people: i’m not able to work anymore

insurance: can you do a bunch of work to prove your disability to us so we can confirm you can’t work