I'm tired, not just physically, but mentally too. When I was 15 years old, I started developing symptoms of muscular dystrophy. Five years have passed, and my strength continues to decline. My legs, arms, and fingers have become much weaker. I used to tell myself that my physical condition didn't matter as long as I was mentally okay, but I'm not. Because of my personality, my disease, and everything that has happened in my life, I've lost all of my friends. I have a family that loves and supports me, and I love them just as much, but I still feel empty. I also have a sister with the same disease. We support each other, and we understand exactly what the other is going through. Whenever I hit my lowest point, I talk to her, and somehow the emotional weight becomes a little easier to carry.
I'm now in my second year of college, studying Biology. Last semester, I was accepted into a research laboratory that focuses on genetic muscle diseases, honestly the perfect lab for someone like me. I'm also working toward my teaching certification. These are opportunities I've worked incredibly hard for, but lately I've caught myself wondering if I should just give them up. I've started noticing that I can no longer do some of the simplest tasks in the lab. I've also been teaching in classrooms, and sometimes, while walking with my cane, I'm terrified of taking one wrong step and tripping in front of everyone.. I'm studying to give my life a purpose, but with the way my health is progressing, it's likely that I'll barely finish college, and I may never even live long enough or remain physically able to see the results of everything I'm working so hard to achieve. Outside of school, I spend my time listening to music, playing video games, drawing, watching movies, and doing anything that helps take my mind somewhere else. I'm trying to appreciate and enjoy everything I can still do while I can, but even so, I'm tired. I'm tired of having to get out of bed every morning, both physically and emotionally. It's been a journey full of constant adaptations. I'm tired of walking into every room and automatically scanning it to figure out where I need to step carefully, what I can lean on, where I can sit, or whether it's better to just stay standing.
I'm tired of approaching every task like a machine, constantly calculating the most efficient way to do it, what movements will waste the least energy, what I should avoid, and how I can make it through the day. Of course, there are days when I feel okay, but then something happens. I watch someone do something so effortlessly that I struggle to do. I fall. I have trouble with a simple task. Someone helps me with something small. And suddenly I'm reminded that I'm sick and that my condition will continue to get worse. Sometimes I wish I could have a partner, but honestly, who would want to be with someone like me? I see so many people my age with their friends, their relationships, living lives that seem so ordinary to them but feel impossible to me.
This also led me to realize that I'll never be able to have a biological family of my own. Passing on my genes isn't an option. And even if I adopted or found another way to become a parent, I know my disease would eventually make it difficult for me to be the father I would want to be or to take care of my family. Sometimes I wish I simply wouldn't wake up. Today I was listening to a song, and one lyric said, "You were born to be happy." For a long time, I've accepted that I'm sick simply because it happened, that biology was just doing what biology does. I know that's completely normal, and I know there's no one to blame, but what did I do to deserve this? That song made me stop and think. I deserve to be happy too. I don't want to carry this void inside me anymore. I want to be free from this body.
And yet, in a bittersweet way, if I had been given the chance to be born without this disease, I don't know if I would have taken it. I've lived my life in my own way, and without muscular dystrophy, I wouldn't be the person I am today. It has shaped the way I see the world, the things I value, and the person I've become. It's ironic that this disease has been at the center of so many of the decisions that have given my life meaning, yet at the same time, it's the very thing that slowly takes that meaning away from me.