We all sing with the same voice, and we live in harmony

This is what sick looks lik. This is what sick IS. I don't look it? You don't realize that my body is fighting itself. You don't realize that I'm allergic to four antibiotics,  an asthma medication that would make my life a lot easier, and a food allergy. You don't realize that I have an autoimmune disorder, a neurological disorder, rods in my back, an eating disorder, PTSD, anxiety, and a non verbal learning disorder. You don't realize that I have a balance disorder, that I have a crapload of medications surging though my body. I don't look it, but you know what? This is what disabled is. 

 You see people like me every day, everywhere. You see people with disabilities everywhere you turn. We are people, just like you, and we have feelings, too. I understand it can be awkward at times when you come across someone with disabilities, but never fear! I'm hear to help you out and avoid awkwardness. NOTE: These are tips from MY personal experience. Other people with disabilities may have different feelings and a different take on life.

1. Never, ever ask me "What happened?" or any variant there of. If you want to know more about my disabilities, there are better ways to phrase it. It's awkward for both of us when I explain it's lifelong, and it's chronic. Trust me, you're not going to get an epic skiing accident story.

Nothing like that, I promise. You may think it's making friendly conversation, but you're really not and just making everyone uncomfortable. Also, don't ask it while I'm clearly struggling to walk or with a door. I'm really not in any shape to answer you then, and you're more likely to get a slightly rude come back. It's rude to ask a stranger these type of question. Get to know me for me. And then ask your questions. I'm more than happy to talk about my disorders with you, as long as you are respectful.

2. For the love of peaches, NEVER ask me "can I ask you a personal question?" This is a good analogy:

It's never okay to ask a random woman if she's pregnant. Same way, it's never okay to ask me if I'm able to have sex, if people want to date 'someone like me', if my husband/spouse/siblings are also disabled. YOU DON'T KNOW ME. YOU JUST MET ME ON THE BUS. It is NOT the time or place to ask me a "personal question" because generally? They are rude and disrespectful, and I am a human being, just like you. You wouldn't ask someone without a obvious physical impairment these questions, so why the hell is it okay to ask me?

3. Don't give me your home remedies. Don't tell me such and such person.  Don't tell me how if I do x, y, z I'll do better.

Don't tell me if I do crossfit, if I go paleo, my health will get better. I've already given up gluten for health reasons. I don't need your 'quick fixes'. My doctors and I have gone through many of these things. It isn't helpful for you to throw this at me, despite your good intentions.

4. Oh my god, don't play the Jesus card. You will seriously incur my wrath if you do.

If you say or act like that, I will get angry and upset. I have prayed so many times. I've wept to God to heal me, and he hasn't, for whatever reason. God has a reason for leaving me disabled, and I've come to terms with it. Please don't tell me to just pray. Please don't tell me if I just trust God, he will heal me. He hasn't chosen to heal me, for whatever reason. I don't know what that reason is. I don't know why I was chosen for this path, and why I'm destined to live a life of physical pain. But you know what? It's just the way things are.

Now, I do sometimes want to have this reaction to people who are stupid about disabilities:

Really, I just wanted an excuse to use this picture

But you know what? We are people too. We are just like you. We laugh, we play, we cry, we sing. We weep, we rejoice, we bleed, we heal. We do things differently. But we all sing with the same voice, and we live in harmony.

Through despair and hope, through faith and love

Seven years ago, everything was changing. Little did I know that just over a month later, everything would further spiral out of control. Me, the control freak that I am, would be left utterly helpless and shattered. How was I to know that age 18, soon everything I knew would change? How was I to know at 18, everything was going to be different soon? How was I to know that I would soon sink into utter despair, and not know when I would find hope again?

September 28, 2005 was the day I totally melted down from stress in the middle of my College Prep World History class. I remember just bursting into tears during a study period, and my teacher trying to console me. But me, being the stubborn person I am, threw up my walls and refused to let him in. Idiotic move there, Ang. Soon things would change so much. But I wonder how different it would have been had I opened up to the teacher then. But I was scared to death. I was only 18 and while legally an adult, if I told the other people at school what was going on, legal systems would be involved. Kind of funny how just over a month later, my faith in the legal system was shattered as well. Kind of funny how my faith in the church and the legal system both took a suckerpunch, and I still haven't regained faith in the legal system.

I guess it's kind of funny now that I'm going into the ministry. It's kind of my ultimate "screw you, bitches!" to the people who hurt me in the church. It's the proverbial middle finger to those who told me I'd never amount to anything, I'd never graduate college. Because you know what? I'm going to make a difference. My story of despair was not for naught, and I can turn it into hope. If I can make a difference in just one life, I will have had an effective ministry. If I can help just one teenager, just one child, if I can protect the child that others failed to protect, my work is complete.

I want to help the ones who slip through the cracks. The ones who fall to the wayside. It doesn't matter if no one else loves them, I want to love them. To turn despair into hope, and to administer faith and love. To be someone they can trust, and not someone who will shatter everything when one of the darkest secrets come to life.

And that is my dream. One of them. The other is to work in a summer camp for disabled children, but that's another post. Another day. Another night.

It's bedtime. Alarm goes off too early, but it's another little sleep night. Been too many of those lately, but not much I can do about it at the moment.

i don't remember the first time i felt unbeautiful, the day i chose not to eat

It's funny the impact just eating has on me. It's a natural human process. It's something we have to do to survive. And yet, it's something that I struggle with and that tears me apart.

I had a good dinner tonight. Best I've had in quite awhile. And because of that, I'm still awake even though it's 2 am. My brain won't be quiet. Lord knows it's a good thing I ate as my weight is the lowest it's been in years. Lord knows I need the calories and nutrients.  But it's difficult.

I know I've lost weight lately. I know I should care more about getting food into my system. But it's difficult to muster up the willingness to care. It's difficult to get food into me. I don't know what I'm going to have to do to get myself to eat. It's terrifying, really, the way this disorder, this sickness controls me.

I don't want to be this way, but I don't know how to be any other. And frankly, to cross to the other side is terrifying. To recover. To be healed. To be whole. It's kind of a paradox because I don't want to get better yet I want to. I want to yet I don't now how. What if I don't like being healthy? What if I gain too much weight? What if I flip to the other extreme and start eating too much?

And now it's approaching 3. And I still can't sleep. And it's taken me THIS long to write this short of an entry. But why? I don't want to finally meet the diagnostic criteria for anorexia, because on one hand while I feel ED-NOS is "not legit", I know it is. I know that you don't have to be severely underweight to die or have serious health effects from an eating disorder.

But at the same thing... it's kind of like a verse in the Bible. "The things I don't want to do I do, the things I want to do I don't." It just feels that I get trapped. Completely Trapped.

And  I don't now what to do. It's hard because I'm having a bad PTSD night. It's well after 3 am, everyone is asleep. Everyone, that is, but me. Because I'm scared to sleep. Because I'm afraid of what will happen if I sleep. Because being scared to sleep as a child is still ingrained in me. because I'm still at my core, terrified.

Because reason says I should have died three years ago

I am told that it is nothing short of a miracle I am alive, be it by the circumstances of life or be it by my own hand. I am told that many other people in my shoes would be homeless, would be drug addicts, would be drunkards. That I shouldn't be alive due to medicine mixups, ailments, and various things I have.

At the same time, I've been told that if I just had more faith I would be healed. If I just believed I could overcome, things would be better. The truth is, I've accepted things to be the way they are. It doesn't mean I don't channel my energy in recovery. What it does mean is like in the serenity prayer, I accept the things I cannot change and must have the courage to change the things I can.

Oh look, I can climb the twisty thing!

Just because I've accepted my disabilities, I feel, doesn't mean that I've let them pull me down. I've really beaten incredible odds. I've overcome so much. I still have much to overcome. I know that due to genetics my general health will continue to demolish itself. I know that if I try to push myself, believing if I just do a little better I can overcome, I will wind up making things a bazillion times worse. To focus on what I cannot do would be foolish. I can play on playgrounds, I can wade in the water. I can take walks. I can so much! Why pull myself down by  bashing myself?

I can play in the water!

I can't control what my father did in the past and I can't deny the impact it has with me today. I can control how I choose to act on the result. I can't control the fact that I'm disabled for likely life, but I can choose to accept it and make the best of my life, no matter how long or short it is. The important thing is that I keep on keeping on, and instead, continue to defy odds. Continue to shoot down the ones who say I can't make it. You know what? I may not make it in the traditional sense. But it doesn't mean I have to give up hope, that I have to quit at life. Instead, it fuels me to go forward, propels me to keep swimming (even though, well, I can't swim) and gives me a reason to survive.

And if you care to find me, look towards the western sky

As someone told me lately, everyone deserves a chance to fly

And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free

To those who ground me take a message back from me!

Tell them how I'm defying gravity, I'm flying high, defying gravity...

Wicked - "Defying Gravity."

And I know, you won't feel this way forever

Not even a month ago, I was started on a new antidepressant. Before I was trapped in depression. Trapped.

But now things are looking up. I'm having horrible side effects, but maybe my nice shrink with a southern accent can find a similar one or maybe he can find something to counteract them.

There is just one week left of classes. One week!! It's at this lovely state in the semester where things are just not going all that well..

But it doesn't mean things are going poorly. I'm at my breaking point stress wise, but things are looking up. It doesn't mean things are perfect, but it means they are looking up. Things won't always be this way. 

Some days are still terrible. Some days I feel like relasping into self injury. I know, I know, it sounds silly and maybe it is. I recently passed the ten year mark from the first time I cut. I still remember that day, still remember it so clearly. And for so long, I thought I was so clever. That I was masking my pain. That I was dealing with my pain. That I had my own little secret way of dealing with the world, hidden under my shirt sleeves. But I was young, I was naive. I didn't know, couldn't know, wouldn't know that by masking the pain, when it came to surface, it only got worse. And so, when once one cut would suffice, now it would take two. Then three. Then four. Until my arms looked horrible. Until I had to move to my legs. And as much as I would welcome the nirvana, the bittersweet Ecstasy of cutting again... it's not worth it. At times I think the break from the pain would be worth it, then I'd deserve it coming back so much.

But the thing is? I don't deserve pain. For years, and I admit, some days I still do, it feels like  it was all my fault. Maybe if I had been a better behaved child. Maybe if I had been cuter. Maybe if I would have run away. Maybe if I would have done drugs. Maybe if I would have drank. Maybe if I would have told someone what my father was doing instead of hiding it, even denying it for years. Maybe if I would have fought back. I had so many chances in high school to say what my dad was doing. There was the time I fell apart in youth group, and one of the sponsors asked if everything was okay at home. There were the countless doctor appointments that asked if I was safe at home. There were the teachers that reached out to me.

The thing was, I was young and I was scared. Would people have believed me? Would things have gotten worse had I told? I don't know. But the thing is, it's not my fault. It wasn't my fault. It was never my fault.

And even if, for some reason, it was my fault, it doesn't make any of it okay. It doesn't make my childhood okay, even if I did mess up at times. It doesn't make what my dad did right, not remotely. And even if my actions DID cause him to act that way, it wasn't right. Not in any way shape or form.

That said, I started this blog taking one track, and it took another. Things are looking up. I'm finding hope again. Moreso, I'm enjoying things again. I'm not playing games just as an escape, but I'm enjoying them. It's the little things. I'm starting to sleep again, even! Sleep is good. Usually.

And now I'm going to play Final Fantasy 8 and talk on MSN for a bit before going to bed early, so tomorrow I can talk on MSN, clean, and do homework. So I can do what I love on Sunday and play music in church then come home and study and clean. I'm going to close this entry with lyrics to one of my favourite songs. ^_^

Spoken - Promise.
(Verse 1)
Yet another day seems like its wasted
You don't feel youre any closer to the prize
A dead end job where there's no future
Praying that tomorrow things wont be this way

(Chorus)
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know that you won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness wont last forever

(Verse 2)
Yet another day, another tired morning
You're catching up to your intentions
Your'e thinking life has to be easier than this
Maybe tomorrow things wont be this way

(Chorus)
Things will get better this I promise you
and I know it won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
and I know we can find a way to make it better
things will get better this I promise you 

(Outro)
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know it won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness won't last forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know things will get better this I promise you
And I know things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness won't last forever

Though it won't be today, some day I'll hope again

It's kind of funny of how what once I controlled now controls me  What I once used as a way to control what was spinning so rapidly out of control now controls me. It doesn't matter anymore how little I weigh, all that matters is that the pounds drop off. It doesn't matter that just eating lunch or supper or a snack should be easy, it's a fucking battle. I can't tell you how many times I open the fridge, the freezer, the cabinet, and start crying from the thought of having to eat.

Eating is a natural thing, it's something we all have to do. And yet... I can't. It's not as simple as just eating something, it's not as simple as just getting better. I don't know how to do. I don't know how to eat normal. I don't know how to find the balance. I can't find the reasons to hope, to hold on, to hang in there, to eat.

It's at the point where it's not really about weight in some ways - it's a game I can play with myself, it's a form of self injury, it's a method of control. It doesn't help that I have to avoid certain foods for health reasons, it makes eating that much harder. What if I screw up and get glutened? What if I make myself sick? Why do I eat anyway? Why do I keep fighting?

I hate this eating disorder. I feel like it's eating me alive, inside and out. And that I cannot hope, dream, wish, or keep fighting as long as I have it... and I hate it.

this is your life, are you who you want to be?

I'm kind of freaked out at the moment. Okay, let's rephrase that. I'm very freaked out. I very much want to go in the ministry. I want to teach, to reach, to help. But I don't think that Director of Christian Outreach is right. I'm not made to witness to people! I can't do these face to face convos, calling people to faith! I can't help a pregnant woman, because I don't fully believe that abortion is wrong. I can't help a gay person, because I don't know that it's wrong to be gay and I've become more accepting of it over the years.

But how can I be a director of Christian outreach when bringing people into the church freaks me out? I don't want to bring new people in - I want to help the ones who are here. I go into a cold sweat, panic, puke, cry, clam up, and my mind goes blank when I have to do this stuff - even though I know it all logically. I can do it over a messenger. But if i have to do it in person? It's a living hell. I'm not made to do this! I want to teach! I want to read about Mark (my favourite gospel) and make it relatable! I want to play with children! I want to do young adult ministry! (I can't deal with teenagers :P) I don't want to pull new people into the church! I'm fine with helping the broken, Lord knows i want to help those who have been broken be it by the church or by life or both. But I'm not the one to pull them into a relationship with Christ.

I've been struggling with this for awhile. It doesn't help that my eating disorder is out of control, it doesn't help that my pain and depression and ADD are not medicated. (I go to pick up my Remeron  tomorrow). It doesn't help that I'm struggling to pass math. It doesn't help that I'm trying to find an apartment, move off campus, line up doctor's appointments. And at times it feels like I'm doing it all single-handedly. It doesn't help that I feel so stressed out.

It's like I'm playing Pokemon, and I'm up against a trainer who has the attack that's super effective against me. We're down to a grass pokemon and a fire pokemon, and I have no other pokemon left other than my poor Leafeon and they're kicking ass with Rapidash. I can't flee from a trainer battle, and so attack after attack is hurled at me until I faint, until I black out.

Y U PICK ON ME? THAT NO IZ NICE.

Ahem. Anyway, I'm struggling with this. This is my life, is it who I want to be? I try to make the changes to make things better but it's hard. And there are some things I cannot change. I guess it's like the serenity prayer:

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to accept the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference."

It just seems like such a struggle some days. Every attack is super effective, and wears me down more and more. I just don't know what to do anymore and how to keep pulling through. 

Chronic Pain Chronicles

Rate your pain on a scale of 1-10 with these really cheesy, not very helpful faces.

 For as long as I can remember, I've lived with chronic pain. I don't know what it's like to live a day without pain. It's so far out of my grasp that I cannot even envision it, I don't remotely know what it would look like. I was officially diagnosed with fibromyalgia last fall, but I've had the signs pointing to it for years. Interestingly enough, emotional trauma can cause fibro and I can't help but wonder if my childhood played a role in my development of the disorder.

It's hard. Some days, just a simple chore like doing the dishes takes everything out of me, and then the trash still leans against the door to be taken out, the clutter spreads over the floor, and I flop in bed with a n64 controller or a TV remote. It's hard. Some days just crawling out of bed to do a chore as simple as get a glass of water takes every ounce of effort I have.

It gets downright soul-crushing at times to know that all your friends are out having fun and living their lives, yet you are curled up in pain. Your life is on your computer, because being in the real world and interacting with people is far too painful. You ache and you hurt and it's to the point where you just plead with the doctors for a relief from the pain.

What sucks? The relief for my pain is out there. But my insurance refuses to cover it. Living in pain and knowing there are drugs out there to help but you cannot afford them is a real kick in the spirit. I try to keep upbeat and positive about the struggle, hoping maybe this treatment will help, maybe this drug will help. But I'm not Molly Clock from Scrubs, I can't keep rolling with the punches and keep upbeat and happy. 

It takes such a toll on my spirit. And it makes me hurt inside as well as out. I am sick and tired of being 24, and living in chronic pain. I'm sick of it. And I just want relief from it. I don't care if it's a drug, a treatment, a surgery. I don't care what it is anymore - I just want to live pain free for once. Some days I think just one, just one pain free day, completely pain free, would be enough. Just so I know what it's like. Just so I get a taste of what it could possibly feel like to not live like this.

I'd be happy to get the pain down to a tolerable level. I even told my doctor I've given up hope of ever being completely pain free.

But oh, how I wish it were possible. 

"I cannot find my voice."

I have this habit of locking down inside myself. Oh, there is so much happening. Images dancing in my head, sights, smells, sounds, twisting together, tangling, intertwined. It's safer to stay silent. It's safer not to speak. I'm afraid to speak out. Speaking out senior year and being shushed solidified that fear. I was only eighteen. I was a senior in high school. And I was heartbroken. I wouldn't wish the choices I made that cold October morning to my worst enemy. But yet, the choices let me to where I am today.


I've grown so much since my senior year. I should hope so, considering I'll have graduated six years ago come June. Six years is a long time, and even as I got my diploma that warm June evening, I had no idea the changes that would come over the next few years. I had no idea I would legally be declared disabled before 21. I had no idea I would sever ties with my mother as well. I had no idea that I would be called into the ministry. I had no idea I wouldn't finish college in Canada and that in 2012 I'd still be working on my undergraduate degree. I had no idea I'd live in frick-fracking MINNESOTA where it's frick-fracking cold. I had no idea I'd still be battling PTSD, cutting, eating disorder... I suppose I thought it'd magically stop, but NEWSFLASH: IT WON'T.

I had no idea that both my grandparents would die before I completed my undergraduate degree. I had no idea that I would make beautiful friendships, meet my future best friends, and go through heart-wrenching grief. I had no idea of any of that.

I had no idea at age 24 people would STILL think I'm 14. Heh. Funnily enough, side story. I was on my way to a doctor's appointment and I mentioned how I still had a specialist at the Children's Hospital. "Oh, you could easily pass for 14." Me: "Mmhmm." "You'll like  more as you get closer to your 30's!" *silence* "I'm 24." "WHAT?!" "Yeah, I'll be 25 in June." "...." "You're not 18?" 18 is the oldest I've been mistaken for in awhile, so I suppose that should make my happy. Anyway. Done with the side story.

Tori Amos said in her song "sometimes I hear my voice and it's been here, silent all these years." Problem is, I don't hear my voice. Sure, I blog and I write and I talk. But I bottle so much up. I keep so much inside me. And I don't know how to pull it out. There are things about my past that repulse me, that I haven't told anyone. And it scares me that it's there. And I don't want to talk about it because I'm afraid people, even those who want to help me so badly, won't like me anymore. Will think horrible things. Won't understand. And so, I carry the burden.

When will I realize how stupid that is?
When will I realize how dumb that is?
When will I find the way to pull out my voice and be strong?

He's the only friend who ever peed in a cup for me

Nick was my friend. I was an idiot for letting petty disagreements get in the way of our friendship, and completely lost contact with him - even being childish and deleting him from my Facebook friends. Which, in retrospect, was stupid and pathetic, considering that he was one of the people who was there for me in one of my darkest phases, when I just needed a friend the most. He'd stay up with me when I was sick. He once skipped Streetlight to watch A Little Princess with me after taking all my sharp objects from me, so that I not only couldn't cut myself but so that I would have a friend. He helped me lobby for the back surgery I so badly needed and he was there (along with other friends, but this post is about Nick :P) when I was having medical drama. He helped me process some things, and showed me God in a way I hadn't seen him until that point. We enjoyed watching Scrubs on random nights for no reason other than, well, we felt like it! Thanks, buddy, for introducing me to the awesomeness that is Scrubs.

I'm bitter and angry about myself for the way things played out, and  I suppose I need to let that go. I'm sorry, Nick, for being a stubborn idiot. I don't think that you were right in that series of three slightly heated convos, but Lord knows I wasn't fully right either. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for being such a buttmuffin.

But all and all - Nick was the only friend who ever peed in a cup for me. Out of context, that's a really awkward quote. It was June of 2010, and I was living in the hotel-turned-dorm at Northwestern. It was previous to my gluten intolerance being diagnosed, and I was incredibly sick. Nick gave me a ride to the University of Minnesota Medical Center ER and stayed with me (well, on my computer. I later hijacked his Facebook status *grin*. Buddy, you never did learn to log out on my computer :P) during it. Problem: they demanded a urine sample and wouldn't leave until I gave them one. Problem 2: I don't pee on demand. Solution: Nick takes the cup out my hand, goes into the bathroom, and PEES IN THE FRICK-FRAKING CUP FOR ME. Me: "O.O NICK YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Nick: "I just did." He then goes and hands the cup to the nurse. "Here, she went." Me: "NICOLAS!" After the nurse left, he turns to me and asked me if they could tell he was a boy from his urine and if they'd find me. Me: "Um, not sure?" We were very relieved, let me tell you, when the nurse came back and announced I wasn't with child. Naw, really?

The funny part? The next day I got a phone call from the hospital, telling me that my urine sample showed a kidney infection and to see my primary doctor. Me: "Um...". That was an awkward text to Nick, let me tell you.

I don't think that Nick peeing in the cup was the right thing, and I do feel kind of bad about it. But, how many people can say someone would pee in a cup for them?

I'm sorry I was an idiot, Nick. I'm sorry that I let our friendship fall due to my stubbornness and slightly idiotic streak. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you the way you were there for me. You were one of the few people who truly understand my medical stuff as while not all our disorders were the same, we had many similar ones. I wish I could have shared with you stories of my surgery recovery. I wish you could have seen my morphine-ridden poetry that I wrote post op. I wish we could have traded spinal fusion/back rod stories. I'm sure we will one day in Heaven. I'm sure it'll happen one day - on that glorious day when we ALL are without our bodily pain and we can celebrate in that freedom together at last.

I love you.

Every lament is a love song,
yesterday, yesterday,
I still can't believe you're gone
Every lament is a love song,
yesterday, yesterday,
So long, my friend, so long. 
-Switchfoot

And she fools all of her friends into thinking she's so strong but she still sleeps with the light on

My bed is soaked with sadness
My sadness has no end has no end
A downward of  spiral of dispair
That I keep falling in 
I need you how, how I need you 
(...)
Your silence is like death to me,
so won't you hear my desperate plea?
-I Need You, The Swift

It's hard some days to get myself out of bed. My alarm goes off, a few swear words slip past my lips, a stuffed animal may fly across the room. I'm not a morning person by nature, never have been. But when you're trapped in depression, when your greatest enemy is that reflection in the mirror, sometimes hauling yourself out of bed is one of the most difficult things of the day.

I suppose I make it sound like I'm drowning in depression. Some days I am. Some days I wonder why I get out of bed when I've barely slept the night before and daytime is the only time I'm able to actually sleep. When I'm running on two to three hours a sleep a night, and a couple hour nap during the day. Why I bother even trying to hope, trying to dream, when it seems like my hopes and dreams and wishes will just be crushed. It's hard.

Living with depression is like fighting a monster every morning. My days and nights are reversed. I just want solace - just some relief from all the pain I'm trapped in. It feels like just doing simple things - hanging out with friends, eating, hauling my butt out of bed, doing the laundry, drain all the effort and energy out of me and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

All I want to do is be free from this demon I battle. I want to be truly happy again, and not a person that I want to hide from. But I don't know how. I don't know how to open up about the past and allow people - friends, therapists, pastors, et al, help me. I don't know how to let people understand and even begin to give me a chance to have hope again.

For as much as I want to hope, dream, laugh, love, and carry on with my life, it scares the everliving shit out of me. All I've known for over a decade is depression. All I've known is bleakness. All I've known is living in fear and terror. And as exhilarating and thrilling the other side might be - it's completely unknown. It's something I've never felt before. What if it's too much? What if I don't like it? What if I taste the other side, and I don't like it at all? What if it hurts? What if I get a sampling of it, and I wind up falling back into depression? Would the relapse be that much worse because I've tasted the other side? Or would it be better once I pull out of the funk again, because I know what the other side is like? 

I get sick of trying various antidepressants. I get sick of feeling like this - I don't WANT to be like this! But how do I attempt something I've never tried, how do I try something I just don't know? How do I even attempt to spread my wings and fly, when every time I've tried to fly I've fallen?

Depression sucks. I'll leave you with Adventures in Depression because that sums it up better than I ever could.

You're beautiful, like a rainbow

One of my favourite commercials (more like a PSA)  has been the Dove - True Colors ad. I don't think it's been on television for a few years now. I remember it coming out my senior year of high school. That year sucked beyond measure, but that's a moot point.

Thing is? We all have things we don't like about ourselves. I struggle with my body image on a daily basis. It's a battle I constantly fight against myself.

The thing is? It doesn't matter that I walk with a limp or my knee snaps out of joint. It doesn't matter that my posture is awkward or I'm not a perfect weight. It doesn't matter because really, it's not much in the grand scheme of things. I doubt when my friends think of me they are thinking the same things I think when I look in the mirror (Gah, another blemish. Shit, my hair is a mess. Dammit, I look fat today. God, why don't my shoulders lie straight!). Instead, they think about the good things (and okay, maybe some of the annoying things like the fact they have to debate with me to get me to do things like, oh, eat) about my character.

It's hard to come to terms with the fact that while I belittle myself over my appearance, it's not what others do. And really, the things I hate so much are likely what others like. And I need to learn that it's not a big deal what's on the outside - that it's what's inside that really matters. And not fully inside, like my heart and my lungs (although I reckon those things are good as well) but the person I am deep within.

But I see your true colours shining through,
I see your true colours, and that's why I love you

(Wow, my nearly 3 am postings when I should be asleep are interesting. Curse you, insomnia!)

I'm walking impaired

Being disabled is really such a strange thing. This is a horribly bad picture of me, but you get the gist:

I feel that when people see the crutches, they cast a judgement. They they think I'm weak, that I'm not smart, that I'm deaf, that I'm dumb, that I'm mute (HA! I bet my friend wish at times), that something isn't right with me. I feel because I have a bad back, off-kilter balance, weak knee, and more that I'm somehow incomplete. That something isn't right with me.

And it's a horrible, horrible feeling. I wonder if I'm broken. I wonder if I can be fixed. I wonder what people think when they see me. And I wonder if I will ever live a day without pain. There is literally nothing they can do for my knee at this point in time. My back has been fused.My balance disorder has an unknown origin. As I get older, my NF will continue to progress and I will become more and more disabled. I may be able to achieve my two dreams: get a license and go overseas, but that will take more time and energy and effort than most people.

It's a hallowing feeling, knowing that I'm only 24, yet already destined to live a life of pain. I will likely never know what it's  like to be fully pain free, only how to better manage and control the pain. I will never know what it's like to do so many things that so many people take for granted. I don't know what it's like to not have a laundry list of disorders, or to make sure every place I go is somehow handicap accessible. I will likely never know what it's like to have a child, as the disorder would not only harm me, it would harm the baby. I get so angry. I get so frustrated. And I wonder why God chose me to walk this path. I get frustrated that over the course of a year I see more doctors and specialists than most people see in their entire lives.

I'm told that God must have a special plan for me, that He must know something. Perhaps he does. But it doesn't change how angry I am that I was made this way. That my life is consumed with appointments to just try and give me a normal life, something others take for granted. That in addition to the physical ailments, I was cursed with PTSD and ED-NOS (coming soon in a blog entry near you about those).

I wonder if it would be easier if I had a family support structure, that when I'm up in pain at 5:30 in the morning, crying because I can't sleep because my back kills and I can't move my leg, if that would make it better. Or if it's better that I often suffer silently, so that others don't know, don't worry, don't have the chance to care.

It's funny the thoughts that run through my head - even though I know most of them are purely irrational. I wonder how much the pain fogs them.

Sometimes you just gotta buckle down

People have often told me they don't understand how I do it.
How I went gluten free on a tight budget.
How I stay in school with all my health problems.
How I function on my own.
How I make ends meet each month.

The thing is I haven't done anything special. I'm not anyone special, I'm just your average 24 year old who loves Sims and Pokemon, anime and manga, the colour orange, monkeys and elephants, you get the picture. And the thing is before I had to do it, I thought I couldn't do it.

The truth is when you find yourself in difficult circumstances, you somehow find the strength to carry on. When you see others in dire places and think "Wow, I could never do that" the truth is when push comes to shove and it's your only option, you just buckle down and do it. It's not easy. It's painful. It sucks. It's difficult.

But I'm not a superhuman because I am where I am now. Because I stay in school with mostly decent grades (adol psych will come up!), because I live on a small budget, because I do so much myself.

Truth is I don't know how I do it, and some days I doubt that I can keep doing it.