The Movie That Almost Wrecked Me

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Marcus Chen is a 34-year-old freelance graphic designer from Portland who became paraplegic after a climbing accident seven years ago. After hearing his shocking experience with a popular movie, I immediately invited him to share his experience on Modern Pain Relief. Here’s his story.

I thought I was ready for it. After seven years of living with chronic pain and paralysis as a T11/T12 paraplegic, I figured I'd developed thick skin against Hollywood's portrayal of disability. I'd seen the inspiration porn, the tragic victim narratives, the "overcome everything" fantasies. None of it fazed me anymore. So when a friend recommended "Me Before You" – the 2016 film starring Emilia Clarke about a quadriplegic man and his caregiver – I queued it up without hesitation. It was a Saturday night, I was feeling good, and I thought I could handle whatever Hollywood threw at me. I was catastrophically wrong. For three days after watching that movie, I couldn't get out of bed. Not because of physical pain – though that was certainly present – but because the film had transported me back to the darkest period of my life. Back to those first months after my accident when I genuinely believed my existence was worthless, that I was nothing more than a burden waiting to die.

The Story That Broke Me

"Me Before You" tells the story of Will Traynor, a wealthy, adventurous banker who becomes quadriplegic after a motorcycle accident. His parents hire Louisa "Lou" Clark (Emilia Clarke) as his caregiver, hoping she can lift his spirits and convince him not to go through with his plan to end his life at a Swiss assisted suicide clinic. The movie follows Lou's increasingly desperate attempts to show Will that life is still worth living. They travel together, she exposes him to new experiences, and they fall in love. It seems like the perfect setup for Will to choose life. But he doesn't. Despite Lou's love, despite meaningful moments, despite glimpses of joy and connection, Will chooses to die. The film frames this as a noble, selfless act – he doesn't want to "burden" Lou with his disability, and he believes his life simply isn't worth living anymore. As the credits rolled, I sat in my living room feeling like I'd been punched in the stomach. Every fear I'd wrestled with post-injury came flooding back: Am I a burden? Is my life worth living? Would the people I love be better off without me?

The Immediate Aftermath

That night, I barely slept. When I did drift off, I had nightmares about my accident, about the moment I realized I couldn't feel my legs, about the weeks in the hospital when I wondered if I'd ever feel human again. The next morning, I couldn't bring myself to leave my apartment. Not because I was physically unable – I've been independent for years – but because the movie had convinced me that the world saw me the way Will saw himself: as damaged goods, as someone whose life had fundamentally lost its value. By day three, the thoughts that scared me most had returned. What if they're right? What if I am just a burden? What if everyone would be happier if I wasn't here? These weren't new thoughts. In the months immediately following my accident, I'd struggled with severe depression and suicidal ideation. The transition from being an active, independent person to learning how to navigate the world with a disability had been brutal. There were nights I'd lie awake wondering if my family would be better off if I'd just died in the accident. But I'd worked through those feelings. I'd gotten therapy, found community, built a life I was proud of. I had work I loved, relationships that fulfilled me, dreams and goals that excited me. I thought I was past all that darkness. One movie brought it all crashing back.

What The Movie Gets Wrong

As I spiraled through those three dark days, I couldn't stop thinking about what "Me Before You" was really saying. The message was clear and devastating: Life with severe disability isn't worth living. No matter how much love surrounds you, no matter what adaptations are available, no matter how much joy you might still experience – if you're disabled enough, the noble thing to do is die. The movie presents Will's choice as romantic and selfless. He's "setting Lou free" from the burden of loving a disabled person. He's sparing his parents the ongoing "difficulty" of having a disabled son. He's choosing dignity over dependence. But here's what the movie doesn't show: the millions of people living full, meaningful lives with the exact same condition. I started researching, partly to counter my own dark thoughts and partly to understand why this fictional story had such power over me. What I found was both infuriating and heartbreaking. People with spinal cord injuries – including complete quadriplegia like Will's character – report life satisfaction rates comparable to the general population within two years of their injury. They maintain meaningful relationships, pursue careers, create art, fall in love, have children, travel the world. Christopher Reeve lived nine years after his accident and described them as some of the most meaningful of his life. He became a passionate advocate, strengthened his marriage, deepened his relationship with his children, and found purpose he'd never had as just an actor. Brooke Ellison, who became quadriplegic at 11, went on to graduate from Harvard, become a university professor, run for office, and live what she describes as "an absolutely full life." John Hockenberry, a journalist who's been paraplegic for decades, has won multiple Emmy awards, written bestselling books, and raised three children. These aren't exceptional people with superhuman resilience. They're regular humans who, like all of us, faced challenges and found ways to adapt and thrive.

The Author's Deliberate Ignorance

As I dug deeper into the background of "Me Before You," I discovered something that made my blood boil: author Jojo Moyes had refused to speak with anyone from the disabled community while writing her book. According to multiple sources in disability advocacy circles, Moyes was approached by organizations representing people with spinal cord injuries who offered to share their experiences and provide authentic insights. She declined these offers, reportedly saying she didn't want their real-life stories to "ruin her vision" for the narrative. Think about that for a moment. A story that would go on to shape millions of people's understanding of life with quadriplegia was written by someone who actively avoided learning what that life actually looks like. It's literary malpractice with real-world consequences.

The Ripple Effect

After those three dark days, I did something I'd never done before: I shared my experience online. I wrote a raw, honest post about how "Me Before You" had affected me, and I asked if others in the disability community had similar reactions. The response was overwhelming. Within hours, I had dozens of messages from people sharing their own stories: "I watched it with my family, and afterward my mom asked if I ever thought about 'Will's choice.' I realized she was asking if I wanted to kill myself. I was devastated." "My boyfriend broke up with me after we saw that movie. He said he 'couldn't handle being with someone who might not want to live.' We'd been together for two years." "I was actually feeling pretty good about my life with chronic pain until I watched it. Then I spent weeks wondering if I was deluding myself, if everyone secretly wished I would just give up." "I'm a newly injured quad, and my rehab counselor actually showed us clips from this movie as part of 'processing our new reality.' I left the session feeling hopeless." But there were also messages that gave me hope: "I was going to watch this movie tonight, but after reading your post, I won't. Thank you for the warning." "Your honesty helped me realize why I've been so depressed lately. I saw this movie a month ago and didn't connect it to my mood, but now I understand." "I'm sharing your post with my medical team. They need to understand how media like this affects their patients."

The Real Danger

The most disturbing responses came from healthcare workers and family members who'd internalized the movie's message. Several people told me their doctors had referenced the film when discussing "quality of life" decisions. Others shared stories of family members who'd become more protective or patronizing after seeing it, suddenly treating them like fragile victims rather than autonomous adults. One woman with multiple sclerosis told me her insurance company had actually cited the movie during a treatment denial, suggesting that if her condition was really as severe as she claimed, perhaps she should consider "other options" rather than expensive therapies. The movie wasn't just entertainment – it was becoming a cultural touchstone for how society views life with disability. And that terrified me.

What We Actually Need

I'm not saying life with chronic pain and disability is easy. There are hard days, frustrated days, days when the physical and emotional toll feels overwhelming. Pretending otherwise would be just as harmful as the "Me Before You" narrative. But here's what authentic representation would show: The reality of adaptation. Yes, life changes dramatically after a serious injury or chronic pain diagnosis. But humans are remarkably adaptable. We find new ways to do things we love, discover interests we never knew we had, and often develop deeper relationships because we've learned what really matters. The spectrum of experience. Some days are harder than others. Some people struggle more with adaptation than others. But the vast majority of people with disabilities report that their lives have meaning, value, and joy – often more than they had before their diagnosis because they've gained perspective on what truly matters. The importance of support systems. What makes the biggest difference isn't the severity of someone's condition – it's whether they have access to proper medical care, adaptive equipment, peer support, and communities that see them as whole people rather than tragic figures. The danger of assuming. Every person's experience is different. Some people with mild chronic pain struggle immensely, while others with severe disabilities thrive. We can't make assumptions about someone's quality of life based on their medical diagnosis.

The Stories Hollywood Won't Tell

Instead of "Me Before You," I wish mainstream audiences could see the real stories: The Paralympic athlete who says her spinal cord injury "saved her life" by showing her what she was truly capable of. The chronic pain warrior who became a patient advocate and now helps others navigate the medical system. The newly disabled person who, after the initial adjustment period, reports being happier and more fulfilled than they were before their diagnosis because they stopped wasting time on things that didn't matter. The couple where one partner acquires a disability and their relationship becomes stronger, not weaker, because they learn to rely on each other in new ways. These aren't inspiration porn stories about "overcoming" disability. They're honest stories about adapting to new realities while maintaining dignity, agency, and hope.

My Message to Hollywood

To the writers, directors, and producers who shape these narratives: your words have power. When you create content about disability and chronic pain, you're not just telling a fictional story – you're influencing how millions of people understand these experiences. Before you write about conditions you don't live with, talk to people who do. Pay them for their expertise. Listen to their concerns. And understand that your creative choices have real-world consequences for real people. The disabled community isn't asking you to lie or sugarcoat our experiences. We're asking you to tell the truth – the full, complex, nuanced truth that includes struggle and adaptation, loss and discovery, challenge and growth.

My Message to the Chronic Pain Community

If you're reading this and you've had similar reactions to "Me Before You" or other problematic media: your feelings are valid. It's not "oversensitive" to be hurt by narratives that suggest your life isn't worth living. It's a normal human response to having your humanity questioned. Your life has value. Your dreams matter. Your story deserves to be told authentically. If you're struggling with dark thoughts after exposure to these narratives, please reach out for support. Talk to a therapist, call a crisis line, connect with peer support groups. You're not alone, and you're not a burden.

Moving Forward

It's been six months since I watched "Me Before You," and I'm in a much better place now. Sharing my story and connecting with others who'd had similar experiences helped me process the trauma and remember my own worth. But I'm still angry about the movie. I'm angry that it exists, I'm angry about the harm it's caused, and I'm angry that it continues to shape perceptions about life with disability. That anger has become fuel for advocacy. I'm now working with organizations that promote authentic disability representation in media. I'm sharing my story to help others understand the real-world impact of fictional narratives. And I'm amplifying the voices of other disabled people who deserve to be heard. Because here's what I know now, more clearly than ever: my life – and the lives of millions of other people with disabilities and chronic pain – are worth living, worth celebrating, and worth defending. No movie can change that truth, no matter how many people see it.

If you're struggling with thoughts of self-harm:

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988

• Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741

• You are not alone. You are not a burden. Your life matters.

Have you encountered media that misrepresented chronic pain or disability? How did it affect you? Share your story in the comments below – your voice could help someone else navigate similar challenges. Want more authentic stories about life with chronic pain? Subscribe to our newsletter for weekly insights from real people navigating chronic conditions with courage and authenticity. Modern Pain Relief is committed to amplifying authentic voices from the chronic pain and disability communities. Your story matters, and we're here to help you share it.

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