I’m Not an Inspiration: A Gimpy Monologue

I’m not inspiration. Let me explain what I mean. I know so many of you out there staring at the future me and thinking that I wrote this play, it made you think in ways you haven’t necessarily thought before, therefore, I must be an inspiration. You might be right, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Everything about what you see right here, right now… That is intended to inspire. What I’m talking about other random people who have no idea who I am, what I’ve done, or for that matter, what I have failed to do. Uses a random strangers who constantly come up to me and tell me what an inspiration I am for having overcome such adversity. To them I say, what the hell kind of adversity are you talking about? Are you talking about the adversity I faced this morning when deciding whether or not I’d like to get out of bed now, or maybe an hour? Last I remember, everyone did that from time to time. For that, I’m not inspiration.

And then, suddenly it dawned on me. They must be talking about the thing everyone talks about, the fact that my body is the source of my adversity. Everyone’s body is the source of their adversity, uncontrollable urges brought about by chemical reactions uncontrollable by the conscious mind, and at best we can only mitigate those, not really control them. Maybe they mean the fact that my body doesn’t necessarily cooperate; if you talk to any woman who’s ever had a period, shall tell you that that has nothing to do with being disabled, because once a month her body refuses to cooperate with her, and yet she still lives with it. But I know you mean, you’d like to congratulate me because I have managed to figure out how to sit on the toilet, use it, and wipe my own ass. So in the words of the little boy in that Adam Sandler movie: I can wipe my own ass, I can wipe my own ass!

It’s thinking like this that is the real disability, it’s a disability born of imposed societal norms reinforced by unthinking masses. I’m normal, I’m human just like you. My struggles are probably no more or less difficult than your own, I cry, I bleed and I smile, just as you do. So I have a favor to ask you, the next time you feel the need to tell me I’m an inspiration, just remember… I’m not inspiration… Unless of course, something I’ve done has moved to to do something you’ve always wanted to do. In that case, I’m an idiot these failed to realize that I am an inspiration.
Just in case you’ve missed the message, check out this lovely lady whose much funnier than I.


One thought on “I’m Not an Inspiration: A Gimpy Monologue”

  1. Hear, hear!
    I just posted about this myself.
    I attended a music and arts festival in Melbourne ‘Rainbow Serpent’.
    Delightful positive love vibes dominate the general feel of it all but…
    Like holy shit. All the millions of people (usually young women) that smiled at me, winked at me, gave me the thumbs up, patronisingly hi-fived me (which I happily obliged while thinking you’re an absolute turd), told me to keep up the good work buddy, you’re an inspiration, you’re a beautiful person, ‘I love you and what you do’.
    Maybe I’m just a crippled cunt you fucks!


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