This is my blog, Broken Down Body. It is my self-indulgent, narcissistic little corner of the internet. Broken Down Body is my personal journal/blog where I chronicle my experiences of living with Joint Hypermobility Syndrome/Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (depending on which of my doctors you speak to) alongside being heavily dependent on Nutella and coffee to get through the day. Oh, and bunnies. These experiences are my own and these thoughts are my own. I swear a lot, I’m opinionated and I’m not always completely politically correct… and I sometimes talk about poo/lady gardens. Sometimes I have a huge rant or throw a pity party for one… because this is my blog and I get to do that here. I feel sorry for myself here so that the people who deal with me 24/7 get a slight reprieve from dealing with my woes. I often discuss my wheelchair adventures because I have several blog-friends who are wheelchair users. They get it. If you’ve never used a wheelchair then you cannot possibly understand the difficulties they bring. Do not criticise me and my experiences until you have walked a mile in my shoes, or rode a mile in my wheels and lived a month with my pain.
I write my blog for me, not anyone else. I share it publicly because I know that my experience is sadly not one that is just unique to me. In fact, the past ten months have shocked me. I have no idea how disgustingly common my journey is. I’ve made genuine friends through having this wonky connective tissue disorder and I’m delighted with that. They read my blog and they relate. I read their blog and I relate. We message on Whatsapp and provide the sort of understanding that is hard to come by among healthy muggles.
If you don’t relate, think I’m obnoxious or you are a friend/family member snooping on me and recoiling at my use of the word “cunt”… Them I’m really sorry, but you’re the one essentially reading my diary, you sneaky fucker. You don’t have to like it. You don’t get to tell me that I’m “doing it wrong” regarding being ill. I’m doing the best that I can. I’m not writing a children’s’ book. I’m writing my own diary.
What you read here is what I choose to share, and believe me, I’m choosy. I write about what is troubling me at any given time or what I feel strongly about. Often this is my illness – because becoming more and more ill and more and more disabled IS troubling and naturally occupies my mind when it is stopping me having fun. Of course there is more to my life than my illness, but this is where I like to moan about my suffering and hardship. If you don’t like it, you can fuck off. You wouldn’t sit for two hours through a film you hated. Studying my blog in great depth when you dislike me is… axe murderer type shit.
So, hiya pal, nice to see you there *waves*… or… why are you still even reading this? You really are one sick mother fucker.