Indeed, I want this stimulator to work. I want a more active life, one in which I am no longer literally imprisoned in my home. Independently of that, it would be ideal to be free of medication. That could be a long ways a way. It might never happen. And it sure isn't a value of my fucking worth.
I could make millions of copies of all of my medical paperwork in pretty coloured paper, hire someone to fold it into origami, throw a party for everyone who have urgent "questions, suggestions, and advice," and have the lovely creations rain down from the ceiling from a net like confetti, or less dramatic, prepare them all very neat binders with sticky notes, passive language, lots of emojis, photos, and friendly words they can understand, but it would not make a difference. You know why?
They watched the news the one time and heard BAD. They don't know how, but they know that everyone who takes opioids regularly, ahem, narcotics, well that definitely leads to addiction. That word narcotics, what is it associated with? Drug sniffing dogs. Teenagers popping pills. Failed drug tests that gets the bad eggs fired. Those people on Law and Order who shake and sweat who were once "good people" and now "have a problem." Your friend who knew someone who's a total loser. People who sell their extra from the dentist for hundreds of dollars. It explains every time someone who takes medication has a not pleasant emotion because we're not allowed to be angry sometimes. Are you studying my pupils? How many times I've taken a pill today? Do I look nervous to you?
Do you know how ridiculous you sound?
Yes, addiction is real. No, it does not apply to the majority of people with physical chronic illness and disability. To those of us who literally grew up being sick. Who spend our lives in perpetual fucking misery cherishing any good moment. Who look at our pills and want to flush them down the toilet. We have to take so damn many that some days the sheer number we swallow, just swallowing them, makes us feel nauseated. Then a few minutes later we feel nauseated some more from the side effects. Maybe they make us forget things constantly, make it hard to put together sentences, give us nightmares, give us half the brains we used to have.
So go on, remind me how sick I am. Kick me while I'm fucking down. Remind me how the thing I take to make laying in bed slightly less excruciating isn't good for me when without it laying in bed would be akin to Medieval torture. Have your experienced the sensation of when your veins simultaneously feel as if they are being lit on fire, ripped apart with knives, and are about to burst?
Do you want to hold my hand as I scream and cry inconsolably? But no, you can't always touch me, because sometimes when you touch me it hurts. Do you want to bring me my meals when I can't get to food? Do you want to carry me when I can't walk? Do you want to make sure my head doesn't hit hard objects when I have a seizure? Watch me as I drool over myself and loudly vocalize, losing control over my body? Do you want to bring me to the bed when it's over?
Do you want to make sure that I have food so I don't pass out? Can you make sure I don't forget to take my medication? (...because I do, frequently.) Can you deal with the mental illness I've acquired because of all of the bullshit I've racked up over the years, the anxiety, the OCD. Do you want to deal with this? Do you want to take me to every doctor's appointment? See me naked in the least attractive way? Do you want to be in charge of saving my life when I can't?
No? I didn't think so.
Then please, shut the fuck up about my damn medications so I can get to a healthier place in peace.