My Brief Spell as an Activist by Lucy Kross Wallace
I wanted to believe that my suffering could be explained by some sinister, ubiquitous force of oppression, but the truth is messier and less gratifying. There were no lurking demons or plots against me, just genetic misfortune and a broken healthcare system and well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful clinicians. I am neither hero nor villain. The understanding that most things aren’t about me, that at the end of the day, I don’t matter much, has come as both a disappointment and a relief.
An extremely self-aware piece from someone who has come back from the brink of annihilation.
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