Human Again


The purpose of a diagnosis is to provide appropriate treatment for healing. When, instead, diagnoses line up like soldiers trotting off into landmines, they only seem to detonate within my psyche.

I died on the the day I was born. The barrage of labels slung at me since, many fatal, some pitifully inaccurate, most both, corkscrewed themselves into my humanity. Tugging ferociously at my uniqueness, they warped me into a homogenous glob of wrong.

A few months ago, I made a decision to release my labels. I’ve changed my language, the way I present, speak about and think about the collection of my experiences. Much to my surprise, it seems as though the more I release the chokehold around identity and illness, so too do the fingers of desperation, shame and sickness release me.

Every day, myriad times a day, I remind myself that I am wonderfully human, nothing more, nothing less.

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