(Some bodies are born credible. Yours wasn’t.)
Write. Laugh. Hope.
You said it hurt.
They said you were exaggerating.
You asked for help.
They asked for proof.
Because the truth is:
Pain doesn’t count the same in every body.
If you’re brown, poor, feminine, disabled, neurodivergent—
you better scream twice as loud
just to be believed half as much.
Meanwhile, a man in a suit frowns slightly
and gets rushed an MRI and a morphine drip.
They ask where it hurts
but what they mean is:
Do you look like the kind of person we take seriously?
They measure your pain against stereotypes.
And if you don’t perform it “right”?
You’re faking. Dramatic. Drug-seeking. Hysterical.
The system wasn’t built to validate your body.
It was built to doubt it.
But pain doesn’t lie.
People just ignore it when it doesn’t wear a tie.
You’re not crazy.
You’re dismissed.
And that’s not a diagnosis.
That’s a damn indictment.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
Because what the hell else is there?
