There Is No Other

The voice that insists there is

Beyond the Mind, digital painting by Judith Alalu, 2026

There is a voice inside my head whose sole purpose seems to be proving the thesis that I am fundamentally other and alone. It is gathering evidence all day long.

Its argument is simple. My life is radically different from most people my age because of muscular dystrophy.

There is truth to that, to be fair. It is not the whole truth, but there is enough truth to it that for years the evidence has easily eclipsed any evidence to the contrary, evidence of common humanity and belonging.

Lately I have been realizing the importance of community and belonging more than I ever have, cultivating ways to connect with others beyond my close family and friends through my weekly therapy group, meditation groups, and chronic illness groups.

The Evidence

It is true that I cannot go up and down stairs, live independently, or use my body in the many ways able-bodied people do without giving it a thought.

It is true that my dependence and challenges begin from the moment I wake up because I need help getting out of bed. I rely on my rollator to go from my bed to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth.

I then rely on my helper, Olga, to bring me water and my vitamins, administer my anti-inflammatory eye drops, heat up my eye mask, and bring me my coffee.

I love my coffee. I used to love making it myself. The amount of time and energy that would take now, especially on days that I work, renders it impractical.

I rely on Olga or my wife to load my wheelchair in and out of the car, to help me shower, dress and undress, to get back into bed at night and tape my eyes shut so I can sleep.

I could go on listing all the ways I rely on others and that make my daily lived reality different from most. This is all fuel for that voice in my head seeking to prove I am other.

It also likes to argue that my suffering is much greater than most, that many people are cushioned by the illusion that their bodies will cooperate forever. This only deepens the feeling of otherness and isolation.

This voice is powerful. It held court for years. It is cocky and sure of itself. It has a clear mission and sticks to it.

The Counter Evidence

There are many ways my lived reality is different from most. And there are fundamental truths that betray my common humanity despite every attempt to stand outside it.

I am a son, a husband, a father, a friend. I was born into a body. I breathe. I age. I eat. I experience loss and wonder, sadness and joy.

Just as I can easily look around and compare my suffering to others who have experienced far fewer challenges, there are millions out there who could easily look at me and see my privilege, my family, my support system, and say the exact same thing, that I have no clue.

If I made a list of everything I have in common with others and compared it to the list of what makes me different, the former would exponentially dwarf the latter.

Yet this puffed up voice remains hellbent on drawing lines in the sand, on proving to myself and to the world that extraterrestrials do indeed exist and that I am living proof.

Gwendolyn

It reminds me of an elderly woman I used to see in my practice in New York, Gwendolyn. She was experiencing cognitive decline and corresponding mental health issues including paranoia. Her life was shrinking, and in response, her mind was fabricating versions of reality that placed her in the spotlight.

She was being watched and followed. She had to be vigilant because there were people out there whose sole purpose was to track her every move.

I never tried to disprove that. I did not freak out or refer her elsewhere. I kept meeting with her every week until she died. She never missed a session.

And when she revealed the part of her that was absolutely sure she was being watched, the part of me that was absolutely sure I was fundamentally different from everyone around me in my suffering took her hand and held it tightly.

Whether she or I were fully aware of it at the time or not, we were not alone.

The Truth

There is no other. The separation is in the story.

Stories require belief to feel real. Real, but not true.

I see the voice inside me now that has been working so hard all these years to prove I am fundamentally different and alone. I can understand why it thought its job was to protect me by making sure I never forgot how different my reality was.

It thought if I stayed vigilant about my otherness, I would never be blindsided. It thought if I believed I was an extraterrestrial, I could at least prevent feeling devastated when others noticed I did not belong.

But the belonging it was protecting me from was never conditional on my body cooperating. It was never something I had to earn by being less dependent, less different, or less of a burden.

The belonging is already here.

It is in every breath, listening to birdsong in the morning, having dinner with my wife, Facetiming with my friend between sessions, and sitting across from Gwendolyn and holding her hand while we both lived in our separate fabricated realities that were actually the same reality. We were two human beings terrified of being alone.

No one belongs any less or any more than you or I.