This poem is dedicated to anyone that has a disability or chronic illness, or even both. You are not alone. You are seen. You will be heard. Stay strong. ~ Crystal__

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Stories In Blood & Ink by SuperGimpChick__ We fight—not by choice, but by necessity, navigating the labyrinths of care, a ceaseless skirmish with "real" doctors, “real” nurses, “real” specialists cloaked in white precision. We become our own damn doctors, __ study our conditions and medications like sacred texts, memorizing every interaction, every side effect, every whisper of our medication's voice. __ __ __ We fight—for dignity, for respect, to be seen as human, not as burdens or anomalies. __ And it’s exhausting…ink __ Believe me, I fucking get it. __ Exhaustion’s shadow looms, __ it wraps around our bones, __ presses down on our hearts, but still, we rise. __ We do our self-care rituals, Mine? I write and I write. And I write. __ And ink becomes armor, lines become lifelines. __ In these words, a flicker ignites inside of me, , a firestorm of resolve, to hold accountable those who ignore our pain, our humanity, who view us as mere cases in their clinical theater. I’ve set a blaze to shield the next generation, to prevent their stories from echoing ours. __ I scour tales of medical neglect, of abuse, wrongful death, injuries painted in sterile rooms, each story a mirror, reflecting our collective struggle. Because we all have a horror story, we, who were never meant to survive into adulthood. __ The system wasn’t built for us, wasn’t ready for our endurance. These so-called professionals, they flounder in their ignorance, their indifference, and that, my friend, is the real tragedy. __ But we, we are the survivors, the fighters, the storytellers. We blaze trails in our own blood, and from our exhaustion, we rise. __ We rise for those who cannot, we speak for those who are silenced, we fight for those who are unseen. Every battle scar, a testament to our resilience, our defiance. __ We demand to be heard, to be seen, to be treated with the dignity we deserve. We are not anomalies, we are the future they didn’t foresee. __ And in the quiet moments, when the world seems too heavy, when the fight seems too long, we find solace in each other, in the shared burden of our stories, in the unyielding strength of our community. __ For you are not alone in this fight, we are a chorus of voices, a symphony of survival, each note a declaration: We are here. We matter. And we will not be silenced anymore! __ So I write. And I write. With every word, I reclaim my power, with every line, I forge my path. __ For the fire within me burns bright, __ a beacon for others to follow, a light in the darkness of indifference. __ And as long as there is breath in my body, I will fight. I will write. __ And we will rise.