You grew up going to hospitals. Not because you had appointments, but because I did. So you began to hate hospitals and going to them. But that hasn’t stopped you from visiting me when I’m in the hospital. Every single hospitalization you’ve come to visit me. To put your arms around me and give me a hug. To distract me for a precious few hours, hours that always seemed to pass too fast. Thank you for bringing sunshine into my hospital room. For taking my mind off of what was going on around me.
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I thought about all the different people I learned about growing up and the differently able community was the only group left out. Growing up black, I know what it's like to be different. I know what it's like for people to look at you weird on public transportation or for people to talk to you like they’ve never been around “your type” before. That happens when a person really isn’t educated about a certain community. As a kid I was never really taught about blindness and how it affects a person.
I went through the next couple of years dealing with the pain associated with eating. Then in July of 2011 things took a turn for the worse. I would eat a meal at night and the next morning would still be full. I usually went for a run each morning. Sometimes that helped the food move through, but other times I would vomit food, from the night before, at noon the next day. I was confused, but didn't say anything at first. I didn't want them to treat me for an eating disorder again. I thought I was past all that. Eventually I couldn't keep silent anymore.