I understand that a menial way to begin a run-of-mill personal interaction is to ask, "How are you?" In my case--even before MS overrode everything--I loathe such ham-handed ice-breakers. The answer used to be bland and innocuous, but now a simple "Fine. You?" does not suffice. First of all, I really don't care how you're doing. I realize that this makes me sound supercilious, but at least I'm halfway honest. Plus, MS has provided all sorts of twists and digressions that a simple and laconic "Fine" won't do. And also, it would generally be a lie. In both senses...
I don't have any pain, luckily, so I'm not susceptible to lashing out just to shut you up. Well, less so... A lot of people assume I'm in pain, but I can assure you that my particular brand of MS does not come with pain. Or cognitive impairment. Mainly it fucks with my equilibrium, makes me lethargic, and attacks my muscles. I can hold a pen, but what forms on paper will likely not be legible. I can walk, but a) I don't want to because I'm too tired, and b) I move like the Tin Man before he gets oiled.
My patience is at an all-time low when it comes to social courtesy. If I don't say "hello," move it along, because nothing can shame me into walking over and shaking a hand. It's not that I despise the act. I do, but that has nothing to do with it. The simplest gesture is difficult, and fraught with potential landmines that could further impair my restricted mobility. So, I have no patience with regard to anything, but manners in particular.
Other people in my position can bore you incessantly with uninterrupted complaining. I may spin verbally into any number of topics, but not about my personal bitching. I could prattle on and on about certain symptoms, but I'm positive that this would get extremely annoying. And depressing. Nobody wants to be stuck with the proverbial stick in the mud. It sounds fatalistic, but the stick eventually drags other people into the mud. Nobody wants to provide the platform that allows someone to springboard from, because eventually the afflicted person burdens the unafflicted and dominates the conversation with personal complaints. I've encountered this phenomenon, and I resolutely refuse to be the one who makes quicksand a, pardon the pun, diffuse disease.
Having said that, I implore you to reciprocate. Leave the flood walls alone. If you provide the smallest opening, I understand why some people jump on the opportunity to unload numerous, and ultimately innumerable, complaints. I understand this more than I'd care to admit. I complain about even the smallest minutiae, but I stay away from MS stuff because I'd rather bitch about the GOP, and its alarmist modus operandi, than my optic neuritis.
Both impulses exist, but I stifle the latter. It's tempting to say that I'm overcompensating for my silent misgivings about my shaky vision, as well as a number of other things, but, as I've said, I'm fine cognitively. Hence I can sense and sympathize with a reluctance to be a mere sounding board.
In exchange for not boring you with an endless diatribe and discourse on my impaired neurological function, I would like not to be bothered with an empty pleasantry. In the words of the idiotic and insultingly homophobic military policy, "Don't Ask, Don't Tell."
Don't ask, because I won't tell. Now that's courteous.
R
