In which she tries to avoid the usual, and fails miserably.

I always lived largely inside my head--my body was just an afterthought and largely unimportant. It seems ironic that I should spend the rest of my life being reminded of my body's existence with the constant dull ache of arthritis.

I mentioned on IRC the other day that I have arthritis, and one guy asked, "so what, you won't be able to use your arms and legs by the time you're 40?"

I told him I hoped I'd be dead before it caught up with me.

The arthritis has actually not been too bad lately; I can walk and use my hands, for the most part. If I stop and take inventory of my body, though, I can't find a spot that doesn't hurt. I'm exhausted. I don't get any rest when I sleep.

Emotionally I'm just as numb and achy. I teeter between despair and anger, but I still manage to be emotionally unavailable and distant. I genuinely don't understand why people like me. "Self-destructive gasoline"--that's me.