Somebody needs to take Mitski away from me. Like, seriously. Take her. I should not have her in this moment. Not on days like today.
Today was what has become a typical Saturday. I wake up, ready to be productive, catch up on homework, do some laundry, maybe clean up a bit. Then, with each attempt at getting up I am drawn back into bed, sometimes by pure exhaustion, sometimes from fainting back onto my bed. When it gets to noon and I’ve only managed to stay awake for enough time to shove some food into my face, only a glimmer of hope remains. That hope will be gone once the sun sets (now at an egregious 5pm) and I have done nothing but scroll, watch, and sleep.
There is a dream and it sleeps in me
To awake in the night, crying, "Set me free"
And I awake every night, crying, "Set me free"
All of “Abbey” by Mitski, but particularly these lines, have been making me sob. I curl into the bed I have been bound to and sob because Yes! That’s exactly it! I have hopes and dreams that get me through everyday, but on days like today, where moving is impossible and there’s no guarantee that tomorrow will be better, the dreams scream. They ball up right behind my sternum and vibrate and scream. They threaten to explode or fizzle out. I don’t know which is worse.
On days like today, I can hear the sounds of the hustle culture I am accustomed to, both as an actor and as a member of our capitalist society. The sounds match the radiator I lay awake listening to: a high squeal like a boiling kettle paired with metallic clanking. Find a way to work! Brittany Hamilton surfed with one arm! People paint masterpieces with their feet! Keep going! Adapt! Don’t stop!
Maybe I’m just stubborn, but no. At this moment I can not be the subject of the next disability inspiration porn. I just can’t. And I hate myself for it. Why can’t I continue my history homework in bed? Why can’t I plan out my next directing rehearsal? Why can’t I cook or clean or go for a walk with my trusty cane and the sheer force of will? Shouldn’t the ticking time bomb of my dreams be the perfect motivation?
I guess not.
While I can physically feel my youth and potential slip through my fingers (and who knows how real that is), I can also feel my body. I can feel the pain and the exhaustion. I, as the brave disabled person I am, watched all three Descendants movies, ate Irish potato chips and cried to Mitski.
I wonder who will play me in my biopic.