If you were waiting behind me in the check out line - watching me try to pay the cashier - struggling to count out my change or remember my p.i.n - maybe you would think I was just another stupid woman?
Maybe you would get frustrated and loudl(more)y sigh, because I am taking so long to figure out how to make thirty-nine cents - have I inconvenienced you?
Maybe when you heard me speak, you noticed the slurring, you would judge me as a pathetic drunk?
Maybe when you heard me stuttering, you would think I was "special needs" and feel pity?
Maybe when you saw me get out of my car with the handicap placard, you would be angry because it looks like I am walking perfectly fine?
I can't hold down a job any more.
I can't count change because I forget how much a quarter is worth sometimes.
I can't remember my p.i.n because all information -new and old - seems to fade like chalk marks on a windy day.
I can't remember where I park my car most of the time because the gray matter of my brain is being scarred over from my immune system attacking the myelin sheath.
I never know when my legs will get so weak from what feel like tiny ants crawling and biting my muscles.
I am not disabled - I am not able. And I can't hold down a job.
I can't hold down a job because I never know what my body will do from one minute to the next. I am barely here but am perceived as fully here. My nerves vibrate. I can't remember, think, learn.
I am in the middle of a societal label. And that means... I need help but "qualify" for none.(less)