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.
Extricating myself from the damaging narratives propagated by the medical community is a daunting process. As these prescriptions and proscriptions have been thrust upon me since the day I was born, the power they wield in shaping my self image is considerable. Recognizing, however, the erroneous contemptuous paradigm makes transparent the wrongness I've been socialized to adopt. Little by little, I'm letting it all go. I'm embracing my perfection, here, now today.
Every day, myriad times a day, I remind myself that I am wonderfully human, nothing more, nothing less.