Chronic illness, poetry

A Slow Hollow

It’s slow. Agonizingly slow.

With each moment it grows more

and more swollen.

Closing my throat.

Digging my nails into my neck

trying to catch one breath.

Hours pass and I don’t want to

keep fighting for survival.

I can’t get rid of the poison.

Every heart beat feeds it.

The longer I continue to live

the longer it has to find more ways for me

to suffer.

Who could ever love this reality?

To exist next to it.

Who would choose to suffer

because I had no choice?

It eats me.

Slowly consuming me.

Seven years, what is left of me?

It makes me into nothing.

I’m wasting away, unable to

choose my existence.

I exist as it wants me to,

Hollow.

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Chronic illness

Lies Able-bodied People Believe

If this describes you read this.


Let’s talk about the myths that abled-bodied people ignorantly believe about disabled or chronically ill/ chronic pain suffering people. To make it easier to follow I’ll make it in list form.

1. “Because we are are disabled our minds don’t work correctly therefore we can’t be smart or defend ourselves and if we can, we aren’t disabled.” Okay first, there are mentally disabled people but that also doesn’t mean that they aren’t smart or that they can’t understand when you speak to them. Second, someone can be only physically disabled. That means that when you talk about that person whether they are mentally or physically disabled they can hear you and they are human just like you. Depending on the person, if they can say something, they will do something about your ignorance. And just because we can tell you to stop being an asshole doesn’t mean that all of a sudden we can walk or suddenly we are healed from our conditions. Think my friends, think.

Me, a disabled woman, traveling.


2. “Disabled/ chronically ill people can’t travel.” Travel is possible for us. It might be harder and we need accommodations but that doesn’t mean we can’t or shouldn’t! Our lives have been restricted enough so when you have a chance to live outside of your routine, you would take it. Especially if most of your life is going to be full of pain, sleeping, pills, doctors, needles, and surgery. Disabled people deserve a vacation too.

Me volunteering at Feed My Starving Children


3. “They like being sick because they like the attention.” I’m not saying that there might be some person out there like this, but I have never met someone who hasn’t been praying and crying because they can’t take this life anymore. People have committed suicide so that the pain would finally end. I don’t care if you think they are being over dramatic, they are fighting off their own body every second of everyday. Do not insult anyone going through chronic illness or disability by telling them that they enjoy feeling like they are being ripped to pieces every day because people to glance at them. Most of the time our attention is our caregivers dressing us or cleaning us or it’s people starring at us and judging us because we are parked in a disabled spot and we don’t have a wheelchair or because we have medical equipment sticking out of us and they think starring with a sick look on their face helps us with the fact that we have no choice in the matter.

Me enjoying a concert. Yes I am still disabled


4. “You are laughing and smiling so you must be fine.” Here’s something for ableists to remember, WE ARE NEVER FINE. We show you smiles and laughs because you don’t have the capacity to handle a mere description of how we feel. We never have a pain free minute. And sometime being distracted and laughing at something else helps us not focus on the fact that we are going to live like we just got hit by a train for the rest of our lives. If we lived 24/7 showing our emotions and truly feeling them, I think we would kill ourselves. 

5. “People with disabilities don’t work as well as able-bodied workers.” I’m just going to put this quote right here… “In several studies, including those previously mentioned, it was found that 91% of the workers with disabilities scored average or better when compared with the general workforce. Their attendance is also better.”

Just saying…

This is how I’m going to look at you if you speak for me.


6. “We have to talk for the disabled and chronically ill because they are just incapable.” Can I just say that when you speak for another person, you are telling them that they are not needed there and that they are useless. They know more about their lives than you do, so shut it and let them be a social being. When people start speaking for me, I make sure that they know that everything that they just said was not correct and/ or I tell them that my nervous system is broken not my mouth. We will stand up for ourselves.

I have only mascara on. You see how sexy beautiful I am. Yes I am still disabled.


7. “Disabled people are ugly and lazy.” Okay just like everyone else, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Not everyone who is disabled looks the same. Not everyone who is disabled IS the same. We have faces just like everyone else and being disabled doesn’t effect our sexiness. We wear the same clothes, we wear makeup just like you, and we come in all different shapes and sizes JUST LIKE YOU. We just want to be treated normally and also have our disabilities and illnesses respected. Just because I feel too physically sick to wash the dishes doesn’t mean that I’m choosing to lay down and pass out. Laziness is a choice of not doing your responsibilities, when it’s not a choice you can’t label me as lazy. You can label me as not able, aka disabled… See how that works?

You know how long it took me to get my hair and makeup done? It was hard and stressful. Not lazy. Yes definitely still disabled and chronically ill.


I know that there is so so much more I could mention and rant about. If you have some that I didn’t mention or you want to rant off of one of these rants, comment your hearts out below. I love hearing about your opinions and stories. Don’t be afraid to ask questions either! I just got really tired of ignorant people this week and wanted to make some things very clear.

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poetry

Swipe Right


I aim to be a missed call

in 2017.

You know that my phone

is glued 

to these bloody palms.

I just didn’t swipe right.

Isn’t that what we desire?

Look at me,

see what I created for you to see,

love what I can never be, in a second,

and swipe right.

I won’t get close to anyone,

so let me get inside you,

just for tonight.

Swipe right.

Our hands are chapped from 

the friction.

It takes at the least 2 years

to know the complexity of 

ones existence,

but all you need to know about me

can fit on your phone screen.

Swipe right. 

Bloody hands from rubbed

raw finger tips.

How long can we lie?

Emotions are enevitable.

The faster you run,

the slower they slit your throat.

Humanity cannot change 

how it feels by manipulation.

There is no app for deleting 

the past.

You will sense every connection.

Swiping right 

cannot protect you.

One night will last with you

Forever. So be right.

If you believe that everlasting 

hides behind the act of

a swipe,

find it in yourself.

You think you can avoid 

loneliness by

using private parts 

and manipulation,

you fool.

Lies call you now.

They know that the phone 

is in your grasp.

The trap is set and 

all a bleeding thumb needs to do is

swipe right.

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Uncategorized

What A Broken Love We Have

I find myself in the same situation so many times. Misunderstood by my dad and his side of the family. Then I am the enemy when I try to explain and my mother is to blame, since she is the only one who raised me. 

Sophomore year was emotional. Not only was I dealing with health issues but also my fathers drug abuse. After I had enough of my life being in danger in the car one too many times, I went to my grandmother. I told her how he was struggling with addiction and driving under the influence with me in the car. How we went into on coming traffic and how I had to steer for him on 30 min or more drives. She did nothing, the only words she said to me was,”You are lucky to have a father.” The phase that my dad would use to excuse his actions. 

My father and I drive home. I was lucky enough to have my permit at the time so I could drive him home. I had had enough so I uttered,”Dad, it’s me or the pills.” He   Looked over at me while I was driving anxiously and flatly said to me,”I am not throwing away my pills.” Heartbroken I replied,”Okay.”

After I got home, I told him to not bother speaking to me until he got clean. What I didn’t expect was that it would take him a year or the blame I got from my grandmother and my aunt. Knowing everything, I was to blame. I was wrong to stay away. Even though he did clean up and now we have a relationship again. I am still a terrible daughter and granddaughter. They still don’t like my mother even though they have never put effort into taking care of me. Even though they have never taken an interest in anything I have done or have helped with my medical care. We have asked for money and they bitterly obliged. 

They love me when I sit quietly. But I have illnesses that are constantly screaming. I will not be walked over because I was raised by “lower class.” I will not take anyone seriously when they try to give me “treatments” when they don’t care enough to ask about or research the illnesses that I have. I will not take your words when it has to be said through others because you won’t tell me yourself. We pride ourselves on being family but we don’t even love each other enough to care about each other. Let’s stop pretending that our family is doing well. I am willing to fix what we can but first we need to acknowledge the truth and be honest. 

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Christianity

Let Him Go, Love God

tumblr_nvg0okceop1un115xo1_500Since I had the ability to remember, I knew I wanted a boyfriend. I knew that I wanted to do life with someone that I was in love with, and someone that was in love with me. As I grew up, it became an obsession. I could blame it on my Dad for not being a great dad and I could blame it on my sexual assault, but those things just made the problem worse.

Once I hit puberty, my search for love and affection went into overdrive. It constantly caused me to be depressed. I would search for something instant, knowing that it wouldn’t work, then I would be rejected. I didn’t handle the rejection well. I would go down this spiral of despair and tell myself that I wasn’t worth loving. Then my first long term boyfriend came along. It was thrilling but shortly after I knew that we were using each other for validation. To prove to ourselves that we could be loved and that we could love someone else. We used each other to feel better about ourselves because our lives sucked. You can imagine how that relationship unfolded.

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For me, It was him.

You don’t actually have to imagine because I’m going to tell you. He was never good enough and there was always some standard that I wanted him to live up to. Most of the standards were reasonable, for an adult male that was mature. He was younger then me and I was expecting him to be the man that he was still learning how to be. Once sex was introduced, we were doomed to fail. We never had sex but we did other sexual things to each other. We wanted to make each other happy because we knew deep down that that was the only way we could keep each other happy. Once you get a taste of something, you want more of it and then you have to go further. For two teenagers wildly enduring hormones, it was hard for us to stop. I remember one time when he went too far and I told him to stop twice. Since I had PTSD from my molestation, I had a panic attack when he wouldn’t get off of me and screamed. He jumped off of me and he was terrified. I didn’t know what to say. I also remember the day my mom walked in on us. We both agreed that we would stop fooling around. That lasted maybe a month, then I started it back up again. I had shame and guilt even before we were caught. I started it back up because I was afraid of loosing him.

 

We looked great on the outside. Everyone thought that we were cute, some tried to break us up. On the inside, however; our relationship was us hurting each other, saying sorry, and then doing something else that hurt the other person. I have abused him, he has abused me. Emotionally, Physically. I have slapped him and he has forced himself on top of me. We were good at faking our communication. He was great at not paying for anything, and I was great at nagging. We should have never been together but at the same time if I never dated him, I wouldn’t know what not to do now. I’m not saying that we didn’t have our good times but they are hard to remember over the explosion of a break up that we had.

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Nearing the start of my senior year, I started truly having faith in God. As that started happening, I was also starting to feel convicted of the choices I made and the relationship I chose to be in. I knew that I needed to break things off with him but I felt like I needed him. I was terrified of being alone and after all he was my best friend. So I waited to see if he would find God with me, and he didn’t. I was being pulled in by desire and lust. I needed to break up with him and I knew that if I did it in person, he would have changed my mind. So I called him, I told him that I couldn’t do this anymore. That the relationship wasn’t good for either of us. That God wanted me to move on and heal things that were there even before he came along. I couldn’t rely on him to make me feel whole anymore. He cried, I cried. We parted ways. Then I started freaking out at the realization that I had no one. So I text him and ask him to take me back. Not because I loved him, because I need him as my crutch. He then begins to tell me that I was a horrible girlfriend. He continued to tell me nasty things that he thought and his friends thought about me. I hear that, given the opportunity, he will tell others about how terrible I am and also about the things that we had done sexually together. Sometimes exaggerated.

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I have grown to ignore what others tell me about what he says. I know I am not whatever person I was in 2014. I will continue to grow and look to my future. I now can be alone with out the despair and the thirst that comes with single life. I don’t have to date the first, second, or third person who asks me out. I am sustained in my faith of the Lord instead of failing to fill myself with the love of a man. There is nothing that he or anyone else can do to change that. I am proud that I am being prepared for my next relationship. Even if my ex keeps intruding into my families life and my life, I know that I don’t have to let that destroy me. My past doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. I have a long journey ahead but I have a choice whether or not I will let my past will effect it or not.

This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!

~2 Corinthians 5:17~

P.S.~ I want to thank my ex, if he is reading this, for helping one of my relatives move. We aren’t talking for a reason and you still helped out my family. Thank you for stepping up like that and putting whatever feelings you have for me aside to help out. I was not able to help due to my many illnesses, so thank you.

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poetry

Can We Talk?


People don’t like to hear 

Other people talk.

They enjoy only the lies

That allow them 

To fornicate 

With pain, despair,

Dressed as sweet everlasting.

A chameleon, 

a cop dressed as a prostite.

A grown mans first try at

Being a woman.

Obviously something 

Trying to be what it’s not.

What it desperately 

Needs to be.

People treat the voice of 

Truth like how some

Treat Muslims.

How the nazis treat 

The Jewish.

They piece together 

Their oxymoron 

Of truth. 

And we all believe the lie.

People don’t like to hear

Other people talk.

Good thing  I 

Can never stop

Speaking.

Writing.

I’ll never shut the “ef” up.

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Uncategorized

The Rock Bottom

It’s just a school night. I don’t like telling the truth. So my tongue only pleasures lies. My dad chugs medication as if it was water, a 50 year old man slashed my 13 year old innocence as I tried to sleep, and there’s a rope slithering in my hands that I’m planning to knot around my throat. Lie to them, don’t let them see that you’re  worthless. I caress the rope, embracing the rough texture. Examining its tight twists and loose ends. Dad’s in the other room. Too high to notice the dark bloodshot eyes and conversations I’m carrying with myself. Do it, make it easier for your mother. Only thing I remember next is my lungs reaching for air. I never cared so little for what my body wants. Despair and emptiness fills the room. The rope unknots. I let gravity do what it pleases with my body and my lungs give me their say. Screaming, I wipe my makeup over my cheekbones and take in the ceiling. Pure silence and nothing breaks it but my sobbing. 

There I slept. Rope still knotted to my neck. 

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