Cover of the book Famesick: A Memoir by Lena Dunham
"y've been thinking a lot," 1 stuttered. "This came into our life for a reason, and there's something we have to learn about__-Before I could finish my sentence, she snapped. -I'm not even or slap me. dose to being able to go chere." 1 couldn't tell if she wanted to cry It seemed that the agenda that had been decided upon in my absence was that we would doggedly continue marching forward until everyone forgot. But I wasn't going to forget. And until T had sat properly in the humility of this failing, in the silence it brought into my life after the noise died down, 1 knew that I would have nothing to say, nothing to write, and nothing to give. My body wasn't any more cooperative. Despite the hope that perhaps sobriety would turn over a new leaf, that acknowledging my mental anguish would heal my physical pain, no such thing had happened. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome meant that no matter what changes I made to my medication regimen or to my sense of serenity, there would always be an issue. Sometimes these health crises were dramatic and quixotic—-hives that went as quick as they came, a sudden migraine that could only be resolved via violent barfing. But usually it was mundane, a quotidian backdrop of pain that I fought against, or just tacitly accepted, as I moved through my day. At night, I slept on an ornate network of heating pads plugged into a power strip. When I walked, my hips and knees clicked. At Disney Ranch, despite the practical boots, I rolled an ankle and had to hop around on one foot for the rest of the day. The more I learned, the more I understood I wasn't waiting for a cure. I was waiting for the bravery to reframe how I talked about what my body could do, to use words like "chronic" and "disability." Jack had said I was always in a crisis, pointing to it as one of the many unsustainable conditions of our life. But a crisis only arises if you're expecting a smooth journey. I was still reaching for the idea that some things could just be.
Finding Lena Dunham’s memoir relatable. Not the parts about being on a first-name basis with Nora Ephron or dating Jack Antonoff. But the parts about chronic illness: “…I wasn't waiting for a cure. I was waiting for the bravery to reframe how I talked about what my body could do…”
