I just read Kafka's most famous story, The Metamorphosis, for the first time. If you haven't read it yet, I'm about to spoil it to death.
I went into the book (It's free here!) only knowing that the main character, Gregor Samsa, wakes one morning to find himself turned into an insect, something very similar to a cockroach. I didn't anticipate at all how much Gregor's change would remind me of my own with migraines. He's suddenly unable to function as a normal person. He is stuck in his room, unable to care for himself, alienated from his family, and becomes unrecognizable to even himself. At first, the story reminded me of the past few years, his sister cares for him as best as she can, and he tries to keep up with family goings-on even though he's been imprisoned in his bedroom. But then it turned into my nightmares of the future. Everyone he loves hates him, and he wastes away in his own filth until he dies.
I did some minor internetting for more information and apparently the author, Franz Kafka, died of tuberculosis, but the sources I've found say that he wasn't diagnosed until a few years after The Metamorphosis was published. So it's probably not really all about illness or disability, but that's what I got out of it anyway.
Also, I recently saw the movie, Frida. (More spoilers abound!) It's a gorgeous film about the life of Frida Kahlo, a talented surrealist artist who lived most of her life with chronic, often crippling pain. I always think biographical movies will bore me, so I only watched it initially for Selma Hayek, who plays the title role. But just a few minutes into the film, a teenage Frida is injured, badly, and I realized that this movie was going to speak to me in a totally new way. Frida was strong. She was in pain, and sometimes her body failed her, but she didn't let that stop her from creating beauty and making people think.
While Gregor Samsa is the repellent burden I am afraid I'll become, Frida is the inspiration I hope I can be.