Content Note: Chronic illness, disability, grief, pet loss, death, emotional overwhelm, survival language. Gentle grounding included.
Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Chronic illness. Service dogs. Survival without the performance.
If you’re new here, hi. I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid. Unwilling amateur cyborg.
Occasional disability advocate.
Medically complex enough to make my chart a jump scare.
I cope with sarcasm, snacks, and building something honest in a world that really prefers things to be tidy and inspirational.
Most days are lived in a haunted meat suit with a questionable warranty and a long-standing feud with my nervous system.
But Thursdays…
Thursdays are quieter.
What This Space Is (And Isn’t)
This isn’t a rant.
This isn’t a report.
This is a check-in.
With me.
With you.
With the Den.
Because this space was never meant to be one-sided.
It’s a place to exist together. To talk.
To be seen without performing wellness. Without pretending things are okay when they aren’t.
No inspiration porn.
No forced positivity.
No gold stars for suffering silently.
Just… honesty.
The Creatures Who Keep Me Here
I spend a lot of time in Bed Jail™, but I’m rarely alone.
There’s Luna.
My medical alert service dog.
Guardian. Enforcer. Service Dingo™.
Professional “hey, something’s wrong, sit down before you make it worse” supervisor.
She keeps me grounded.
And, occasionally, reminds me that rest is not optional no matter how convincing my arguments are.
Then there’s M&M.
My Player 2. My soft place to land.
The one who checks in on me the same way I’m trying to check in on you.
The one who makes sure I eat, drink water, and don’t quietly push myself past my limits just because I can.
(Not that I should.)
But your Cryptid is stubborn in a way that could qualify as a personality flaw.
That’s not something I want you to inherit from me.
That instinct… the “I have to do this alone” survival wiring?
It kept me alive once.
It’s not what keeps me well now.
Even old Cryptids can learn new tricks.
I promise.
The Actual Check-In
Alright.
No dodging.
No “I’m fine, but—” escape hatches.
How are you doing… really?
You’re allowed to be honest here.
You are not a burden for having feelings.
You are not “too much” for existing in a hard body or a hard life.
Take a breath with me for a second.
In for four.
Hold.
Out for six.
Again, if you need it.
Unclench your jaw.
Drop your shoulders.
Go grab some water.
I’ll wait.
Where I’m At
I’m somewhere between struggling and hanging on for dear life.
Not gracefully. Not heroically.
Just… here.
And that counts.
It’s been another bad week here at the Den.
Luna’s been glued to me while I write this.
Not in a cute, casual way. In that quiet, watchful way she gets when something isn’t quite right.
She keeps checking in. Pressing closer.
Like she’s making sure I stay where I am instead of drifting too far into everything I’m trying to hold at once.
I trust her more than I trust my own awareness some days.
So… I’m listening.
Staying put.
Breathing where I am.
We don’t have to be okay to be allowed to exist in this space.
It’s been a heavy week.
My older brother, Matthew- the Compass– had to say goodbye to his family dog. And my heart is breaking for him, because I know that kind of loss lives in your bones. We just walked that road with Bear in October. That kind of grief doesn’t really leave. It just learns how to sit beside you.
I met her, and I can tell you that Frost was the best girl.
And then, someone I love very much lost her best friend on Monday morning.
She passed peacefully, in her sleep.
Which is a mercy.
But it doesn’t make it easier to understand. Or accept.
It doesn’t feel real yet.
I wish I could be there.
I wish I could show up at her door, wrap her up in something steady, make her coffee, and say all the things that people say when there aren’t enough words.
But Winnipeg and Chicago don’t bend for grief like that.
Someday soon, though. I mean that.
I wish I had known her better.
She mattered. That much is clear.
May she rest peacefully.
For You, Wherever You’re At
If this week is kicking your ass, I see you.
If you’re barely holding it together, that still counts as holding it together.
If things are heavy, you don’t have to carry it alone here.
And if things are good?
You’re allowed to say that too.
You’re allowed joy without guilt.
You’re allowed softness without waiting for something bad to happen.
There is room for all of it here.
If you don’t have the words today, that’s okay.
You still showed up.
And that matters more than people give it credit for.
If you want to check in but don’t know how, one word is enough.
Still here.
Tired.
Numb.
Okay.
Trying.
All of those count.
The Door Is Open
If you want to talk, my DMs are open.
No pressure.
No expectations.
Just… open.
Even if you just send a random DM that says, “Lu Bean pics please.” I’ll know you’re having a bad week, and I’ll spam you with Luna Bean being her goofy little self.
I hope the rest of your week is kinder to you than the beginning was.
I’m really glad you’re here.
I mean that.
Love you.
Yeah, I said it first. Your turn.
-Sky
© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(Luna says drink some water. I’m inclined to agree.)
Luna Rating 🐾
Stayed alert. Minimal naps.
Humans required supervision.
10/10 would enforce rest again.
🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
There’s never pressure to donate. Reading, sharing, or simply being here is more than enough.
If you’d like to support the long, slow work of staying alive, stable, and building this space:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility
Leave a comment