I was born a healthy kid. Focused and obedient I was.
Perfect I was never, I too had my flaws.
I studied hard and excelled.
A natural speaker, with people I easily gelled.
Then my world broke down in a thud.
If my lifetime was a flower, I was still just a little bud.
Twenty-four years was when I got diagnosed with the muscular dystrophy disability.
I could no longer walk or do my chores with stability.
But I was never going to take pity.
Not from me or others. To rise above my problems was my duty.
So I accepted what I had.
Even though it was quite bad.
I focused on what could be done.
Positives where what I dwelled on, negatives none.
I knew what I would miss – walking, playing and anything involving activity.
But one thing remained on my mind – no pity.
In time I got married and was ecstatic.
The first few months were fantastic.
But then my marriage started to crumble.
I knew my disability was what caused the stumble.
It hurt me, quite badly in fact.
I was in tatters, my life shattered but the strength in me remained intact.
I knew I could now never get married again and have children.
No off springs for myself gave me the sad feeling.
But there was no point in that for me.
My disability was not going to change, I would only wallow in pity.
My life has always had two paths.
Acceptance or defeat. Each has its own aftermath.
I chose acceptance and gratitude and I know I could never be happier.
Defeat if I had chosen my life would have been shittier.
I would have complained or never worked.
A burden on myself and others I would have become. Anger and pity in others I would have irked.
I would have become an alcoholic and died a hated, pitied nobody.
Now that I have achieved so much, I die a somebody.