I’ve been suffering from chronic pain for over 5 years. Universal healthcare is a dream to me. I Know, other people have it worse than me. But I’m living in this body. A body that used to be limber and active with gymnastics and dance. Now, it’s broken from a car accident that should have been an easy, “Their fault, pay my medical bills and time missed from work.” thing. But not for me. It was the Universe wondering how hard it could fuck me and now I’m a broken down wreck of a human. I have days where the pain is so bad that I don’t know how I’m going to function, but I do. I wonder if I’m ever going to not have pain or if this is my lot in life, now. I’d like to die, some days.
I used to think I was a special soul. A magical creature, destined for adventure and many loves. I’ve stopped hoping for miracles and settled down into cold reality and bitter tears. I’ve spent my life cultivating what I thought was an interesting and funny character. Hoping to attract people who would enjoy my company as much as I do. Mostly, what I’ve found are people who quickly size me up as to how much they can take from me before I get wise to their thievery and end the relationship. I feel as if I have holes in me where the people have mined what they needed. Like shitty housemates who dig all the fudge from the fudge ripple ice cream. Leaving chocolaty, skid marks in stale, vanilla ice cream.
Who wants to hang out with a broken, bitter, stale soul who’s jealously guarding what little treasure she has left? My last, artistic endeavor ended with no sales and me, wondering why I bother.
I’m sick to death of people who tell me that I need to be more compassionate and professional when dealing with clients who need to be under a doctor’s supervision for mental issues. It’s not in my scope of practice to handle these issues. I’ve mentioned the questionable ethics in taking money from someone at the peak of a manic episode. I was quickly shushed and MY compassion was questioned.
Even my own family treats me like an unwelcome changeling. When something goes wrong. I’m the first to be blamed. Someone needs a scapegoat, punching bag or a chump to dump their chores on? Guess who’s nominated. Even my memories are questioned or laughed at. “What were you thinking? That never happened.” Being gas lighted and ridiculed is the norm for me. Maybe I am just living in a make-believe world. But, they know me here and are mostly friendly and glad to be with me.
I hate summer. Most people get depressed in the winter. Not this weirdo. The sun doesn’t like me. I’m sensitive to heat and burn easily. How did I end up in the desert? Why do I feel trapped?
I want to go home and I don’t know where that is!