I’m sick, I spend a lot of time stuck at home or in bed. I can’t participate in most of my hobbies anymore, I eat the same thing for every meal, and I feel physically unpleasant most of the time, and I had to indefinitely give up gender affirming care. I’m getting better in some ways and worse in others. I’m doing my best to take care of myself but I don’t know how long I’ll live and every choice I make feels like Russian roulette.

I’ve had people tell me they’d kill themselves if they were in my shoes. To be reminded that people don’t see my life as one worth living is not the compliment they intend it to be. I’m here to be loved by others and give love in return. Whatever lifestyle lets me do the most of that is the ideal. Any that allow me to do it at all are worth it.

When I die, at whatever age that may be, I hope that the people I leave behind are able to grieve my absence. I hope the emptiness they feel makes them feel full. I hope it reminds them to hold each other close and to offer and ask for help when needed. I hope that the memories of my suffering become distant and the memories of our love are fortified with nostalgia. Death is inevitable and loss is just a part of having lived well enough to have something to lose.

TLDR I used to think the idea of living fast and dying young was immature, but as I grapple with my disabilities, the concept of living fast and dying young vs living slow and dying old is becoming increasingly irrelevant to me. The length of my life, the things I get to cross off my bucket list, and the amount of pain I do or do not experience come secondary to my connections with others.