I’m Sorry, What?

I wouldn’t ever wish my life on another person. That would be like stepping an a million legos. Whats so terrible about my life you ask? Everything went down the drain when I was only 11, my health began control my life. Physically I looked like an 11 year old yet my body felt like I was 73 years old. From there it only got worse. This is my story.

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Mountains of Pills

Pills, pills and more pills.

I’m 22 but my body feels like 72.

  • Pain pills.
  • Depression pills.
  • Sleep pills.
  • Muscle pills.
  • Seizures pills.
  • Digestive pills.
  • Migraine pills.
  • Heart pills.
  • Anxiety pills.
  • More heart pills.
  • Connective tissue pills.
  • Nervous system pills.
  • More pain pills.

I don’t remember a life of when I did not depend on pills. When I didn’t have to take pills to get through the day. To get through life.

My Unicorn

OH MY GOSH. You see her too? I’ve had her since she was a ye little thing. I dressed her in a cool vest with warning patches, she can’t be touched. This leash and collar? It’s a legal thing.

No ma’am, please don’t pet or touch her, she’s working.

Do you like to be touched while you work? I didn’t think so.

She protects me and helps me get through the day, that’s what I’ve been training her to do. She knew a lot of it naturally though. It’s actually really cool. She reads my emotions and feelings and tries to fix me to the best of her ability. I’m sure that, if she could, she would eat the people who hurt me.

Look at her again. To me she is a beautiful, rare creature that is hard to find. But in reality she is a rottweiler who is training to be my service dog. She isn’t 10 feet tall with a shiny horn, but she is so damn lovable that she can take away my pain with one huge slobbery kiss.

Growing Up With Guns

I was lucky enough to grow up in a household with guns. I don’t say this because I feared for my life and my guns protected me. No, growing up with guns gave me so much education, appreciation and more than I could ever explain.

I learned at a young age what gun control is. It’s not the laws the government dictates. It’s how you properly use a firearm.

Gun control is pointing a firearm in only a safe location, keeping it on safety until you are ready to shoot, knowing what you are aiming at and what is behind the target. It’s knowing how to clean a gun, how to set up shop and put it all away when you’re done, all while having fun and being safe.

Guns have allowed me to hunt for my food and feed my family since I was 10. A female hunter, sometimes that’s hard for people to swallow. My family has taught me how to survive. I can make it out in the woods. I can get dinner, prepare and cook it. Can you?

Now that I’m of age, I’m proudly an owner of a concealed carry weapon license. I use that baby as much as I can. Best believe that I will protect my family and myself if the time comes. It’s going to be rather hard to take my rights away from me. I grew up with it and I plan on my kids doing the same.

Atalanta

Across the Kitchen Canyon, through Peephole Tunnel, perched comfortably on the carpet is where I found you.

ME: a tall, ginger with freckles covering most every inch of skin. Favorite color? Camo. Always carrying a knife or gun. Not everyone’s cup of tea, not everyone understands me.

You: a short, blonde (most often), ghostly pale ball of love and excitement. You go from “let me sing you a song” to ” I’ll throat punch you” in .9 seconds. Even faster, those are the best times.

You’ve changed so much over the years, but youve only gotten better. Freshman year, such long hair. A burning hatred for our roommates, that has yet to change, to be honest. You came here with so much to lose, without really knowing it, but you soon did. A strict, strangling, suffocating family had a hold of you. You fought your way through though.

We spent hours upon hours sitting on the floor or the bed. I poured out my heart and you caught every drop. Bestest friends.

You pushed me. I pushed you. We did things we never thought we would do.

YOU: camo? A knife!? Shootings guns and eating venison.

ME: theatre class?? Going to shows, joining a frat!?

You, this little ball of fury, who everyone thought they could pick up, touch her head, or that she was a cute, little kid, changed my life. AND you definitely are not a cute little kid, no one should underestimate you. Ever.

I love you to death. Oh I mean to the moon and stars.

Knocked Out

It’s a fight to the death, head to head battle. Winner takes all.

The two contestants hate each other… their hate has grown every day for years. You can see hell fire burning in their eyes.

Her body versus her mind. Both are in a tight spot, which will take which first.

You can see that her skin is scorching, her body is burning herself alive. She takes pills to dim it, the water does nothing.

You can see lines on her skin from past fights. The only way she knew how to fight the demon.

The battle continues another day

Spoons

One thing. It means two things to me, neither of which is a utensil to scoop icecream into my mouth. Most best friend and a spoonie.

I wear this ring around my finger as a promise, a reminder and to show my love for you. A simple spoon, meaning so much. That old, weird man offering us a deal and he even cleaned them up.

They make best friend jewelry. Cute, expensive jewelry that people buy to show they are friends, when they really wear maybe once or twice. When my Big and I got our spoons for less than five bucks at a flea market, if I remember correctly it was my birthday. I can look at this ring, all thick, beaten up and old and I know that we are just like this ring. Not for those reasons. I know that we will stay strong forever, we may dull at times but we will always come back brighter, we can bend but never break, we are definitely one of a kind and we came as a packaged deal, you with me and me with you.

Spoonies, let me explain, this is a term given to the people who have chronic illnesses. Personally, I have so many problems, I am a professional spoonie. However, that shall be continued in another blog. Now as a spoonie we have this thing called the Spoon Theory. This theory explains that every day i wake up with a limited amount of spoons to use. A spoon is used when I have to physical or even mentally do something. When I take a shower I use 1 or 2 spoons, same with getting dressed. Making and eating a meal, driving, reading, going to class, meeting family anything. If I wake up Monday with 6 spoons I can barely do anything. Tuesday I may wake up with 16 spoons and be able to shower, so homework, trained my dog and make dinner. So I need all the extra spoons I can get. Whether that is my service dog helping me, someone random helping me when I’m in need, or my best friend sending me a spoon from New York actually sending two. I also need extra spoons. I’ll take as many as I can get, however I get them.

Spoons, a utensil to you, a life piece to me. A major part of every day, part of my life and part of a friendship. Its funny how little things can mean so much.

Spoons

One thing. It means two things to me, neither of which is a utensil to scoop icecream into my mouth. Most best friend and a spoonie.

I wear this ring around my finger as a promise, a reminder and to show my love for you. A simple spoon, meaning so much. That old, weird man offering us a deal and he even cleaned them up.

They make best friend jewelry. Cute, expensive jewelry that people buy to show they are friends, when they really wear maybe once or twice. When my Big and I got our spoons for less than five bucks at a flea market, if I remember correctly it was my birthday. I can look at this ring, all thick, beaten up and old and I know that we are just like this ring. Not for those reasons. I know that we will stay strong forever, we may dull at times but we will always come back brighter, we can bend but never break, we are definitely one of a kind and we came as a packaged deal, you with me and me with you.

Spoonies, let me explain, this is a term given to the people who have chronic illnesses. Personally, I have so many problems, I am a professional spoonie. However, that shall be continued in another blog. Now as a spoonie we have this thing called the Spoon Theory. This theory explains that every day i wake up with a limited amount of spoons to use. A spoon is used when I have to physical or even mentally do something. When I take a shower I use 1 or 2 spoons, same with getting dressed. Making and eating a meal, driving, reading, going to class, meeting family anything. If I wake up Monday with 6 spoons I can barely do anything. Tuesday I may wake up with 16 spoons and be able to shower, so homework, trained my dog and make dinner. So I need all the extra spoons I can get. Whether that is my service dog helping me, someone random helping me when I’m in need, or my best friend sending me a spoon from New York actually sending two. I also need extra spoons. I’ll take as many as I can get, however I get them.

Spoons, a utensil to you, a life piece to me. A major part of every day, part of my life and part of a friendship. Its funny how little things can mean so much.

Stage left

Some people think they deserve the limelight, all your attention. I’m here to let you know that I pick the cast and crew in my story. You had an audition and you blew it. No call backs or second auditions, you gave it all your first go round. You didn’t show any ounce of care or thought. Someone else filled your spot and they are so much better than I ever imagined.

Exit stage left. Leave all the props on your ways out.

Take it all, I guess

He gives, he takes. Hope hasn’t been allowed in my body or mind for years. Hope causes pain. If I get my hopes up it always, ALWAYS, gets knocked down. It crumbles, gets stepped on, beaten to a pulp.

This surgery will fix your ankle. Just kidding we made it worse. Now you have nonstop, 24/7 excruciating pain that you can’t even fathom.

These shots should help the pain. Oh shit, actually… your body is deathly allergic to it. Anaphylactic reaction, icu for days, and spreading of your disease.

To add to this nerve damage you already have in your body. We’re gonna add heart problems, fainting, joint probs and more muscle issues.

I just can’t take it. Is it worth it. Doctors’ are suppose to be here to help, yet all they have done is more damage, pain and tears. Now they want to away the one thing that is helping me. Fuck this. Fuck them. Fuck it all.