I’m gonna treat this as a safe space because I don’t frequent this place any more and I’m pretty sure any interest in anything I post has long since waned into nothingness.
I started therapy- a couple months ago. The woman I’m seeing is sweet and kind and seems driven but treats me as if I’m some sort of project. She gives me worksheets to fill out in my spare time while I’m carrying the world on my shoulders. I don’t blame her for this- I realize that it’s her job and she feels like in order to get me into shape she has to take some kind of initiative- but honestly? It’s enough for me right now to just be able to go somewhere and speak with a neutral third party about all the chaos and trauma in my life. I’m not looking to be healed, I just want to be unburdened.
I was diagnosed with diabetes when I was six years old. That seems to be the starting point of my story, no matter how hard I try to deny or reduce it.
My dad was a type one also, relieved of his lower extremities throughout his battle and the person I felt most connected to while battling this deformity of my organs.
Guess who’s a smoker now?
I never claimed I made good choices.
The best ones I’ve made so far were getting married ridiculously young to a man I’d known since childhood and raising two kids who make me feel like life is worth something.
I’ve been struggling through medical trauma of my own- injections to the eye once a month and surgery to remove the gel from my eyeball to keep the blood vessels from expanding, breaking and bleeding with the pressure of attempting to keep my vision intact while dealing with the fluctuation of blood sugar spikes and drops.
Teeth that are waging a war against jaw bones inserted with cadaver dust and animal parts to keep them from crumbling.
Oh, what a fun life I live, in this broken body. I often think of why I shouldn’t be here, walking around on this earth, taking up resources my own body failed to provide for me because it knew from the start- this is gonna be a roller coaster.
I wish I could escape sometimes- I wish I didn’t have the responsibilities and the deep love that keep me tethered to this planet that keeps spinning despite the absolute disgusting mess we’ve made of it.
My mom is battling Alzheimer’s- a disease that you don’t want to know anything about if you haven’t yet encountered it in your life. One that I’ve watched three other family members struggle with and fall from. Become melancholy, comical, zombie-esque and rage filled. Become shadows, walking around with distant memories that serve no purpose in their current existence. Floating through days wondering what day, what year, what timeline they’re in.
She was my comfort. My security blanket in a field of fire.
And now she lives with a woman fighting similar battles but that doesn’t have the time or patience to notice the hellscape around her. Doesn’t contribute to rent or utilities but is comfortable taking space in everyone’s lives while claiming king of the trauma hill, like this is some sort of childhood game.
And I keep trying to deal with it all. I keep trying to stay sane, stay stable, stay strong, in this position and this uniform life has given me, complete with chains and barricades. I keep trying to be the adult I still don’t feel I am while saying a long goodbye to the dna walking outside my body as they learn that America is no longer the place of dreams come true, but rather an Ancient Rome falling on its knees.
It’s all so heavy on my heart. It’s heavy on my soul.
I want things to get better- back to how they were. I know that life goes on, I know that times get tough- but do they ever get better?
sugurugetos
gummygunk
areudirty
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tangentwithtanner
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
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germansingergirl
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