I Love People

My illness has caused me to relate to many people.

I relate to people who have a terminal illness because they have a disease that will never go away. The illness has dramatically changed their life and has caused them to possibly think about things that they otherwise wouldn't. People who are terminally ill need some kind of treatment to feel better, so do I. Not everyone has the same kind of illness, and not everyone has the same type of MS. People without a terminal illness can never completely understand someone who does.

I relate to older people because they move slower than they once did. Older people feel young inside, but they can no longer do what they once could. Not only can I sympathize, I can empathize. I love older people. They have rich lives that don't end just because they get old.

I relate to people who suffer hard trials because my trial is hard too - sometime I cry. Sometimes I say, "This isn't fair!" The unfairness of life is crappy; it hurts. I don't discount people's trials but hope they won't let their trials defeat them. Trials are hard to endure but they can also make people stronger.

I relate to people who are what I used to be. I used to be very private and think my world is my world and your world is yours. After getting sick, I felt very transparent. Things dramatically changed for me in a way that I thought people could see right through me. When I got sick, the real me caused me to consider myself average instead of better. I didn't go around thinking of myself as superior but I reached for perfection and considered myself above others who didn't. I remember sitting in my car at a red light, after receiving my diagnosis, and thinking, well, now I get to feel what everyone else feels. I didn't want to be average but above average. Although my disease made me like everyone else, no one was me and that made me special.

I relate to people who appear perfect because I, too, liked the appearance of perfection. When someone came over, I cleaned beforehand because I felt good knowing that I had an immaculate house. On another note, whenever someone saw me I hoped they'd realize I held nothing back in trying to look nice. My hair always looked clean and groomed. My fingernails were always clean. I always wore shoes and clothes of the latest fashion. My makeup always made me feel pretty. I would never have dreamed of going out in public without looking my best. After getting sick, I could only sit - otherwise, I got hot and wanted to cry. I felt angry that I could't do things because I wanted to do them. I felt horrified to ask anyone for help because I didn't want to appear weak - I wanted to do things myself (clean, cook, and do everything I no longer could). I walked in a very unstable way and wore shoes that stabilized me. I quit my job and no longer had the money to by myself things; shopping didn't feel good anyway because I couldn't stand very long before wanting to sit. The changes in me made me feel very insecure and exposed. I didn't want people to judge me. Although I could no longer do a lot of things, people wanted to show me their love.

I look back on the past four years and see that my outlook on life and on people has softened. All I can do is honestly acknowledge my past and hope that someone will benefit from what I say. My current feelings are that I love people. I believe that they're good; that they can do many things; that they have a lot of strength; that they have will-power; that they can accomplish great things; that they are capable of having patience; and that they're everything they wish to be but think they aren't. My greatest hope is that people will see the good and love themselves.