Soy un perdedor
I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?
Sometimes, with this little MS thing, you feel both like a loser, and angry enough to burn down trailer parks.
I can't even begin to tell you how TIRED I am of being told I look fine, when I've managed to drag some sensible self out of me for an hour or so in a day.
I feel frustrated that I have to explain and explain and explain, even to those who know me.
I'm tired of trying to learn the lingo for being taken seriously by doctors and neurologists.
I'm fed up with dealing with the probable side effects of medications that may not really be helping me after all, and if they are, well, it's not by much.
I imagine everyone with a chronic disease, especially if they are outwardly semi-vertical and smile, deals with this anger and frustration at not being heard. On the one hand, we're PISSED that we were given this wee challenge to mess up our lives - on the other hand we are FROTHING at the mouth about trying to explain it yet again to someone. Or excuse ourselves, or explain why we can't do something or whatever. Grrr.
Seriously, I don't feel like a loser, nor do I want anyone to kill me. But there's something in that song that calls to me. Perhaps that's because when I talk to health care professionals, I feel like I should be singing it to them...
Whaddya think they'd say?