I’m Scared

Okay world, here’s your chance: what are you trying to tell me? Us? What’s the idea behind all of this? Third car accident in two months. Is there a reason? A message? Because if there is, I’m not getting it. I’m just getting that my family is getting hurt, and scared.

We’re okay. I mean, we’re not, but none of us are in the hospital, or seriously hurt. I just feel my sister’s pain so much. She and my other sister were driving to school six weeks ago and were rammed into from behind. Both were mildly hurt (the middle one has fibromyalgia too), but mainly the oldest suffered a lot from whiplash. This was her first time driving to school since (the middle sister wasn’t with her this time). And again, rear-ended on the same stretch of road as last time.

I just spent the last hour with her and my mom. We were trying to calm her down. She couldn’t stop crying. I hope her neck won’t have any permanent damage at this point. She and my mom just left for the doctor’s.

We’ve been having a hard time as a family. The middle sister and I both have fibro, my dad is always travelling for work (he was abroad for the previous two accidents, and now this one too), and now with all of these accidents happening… Oh, and my mom has shingles right now, to top it all off. My oldest sister was only just starting to regain some sense of normalcy, of being able to move about. I’ve been under a lot of pressure. It’s test season at school, I have all of these tests on everything I am supposed to have learnt in the past two years, back to back, and I’m starting to buckle under the pressure.

So what’s the point, huh? Why is this happening? Because clearly, I must be missing something. If the world wants to say something, it can just frickin’ say it already. Stop hurting my family. I can’t deal with this anymore, it’s too much, I just can’t. My friends are stressed out about tests. That’s it. Why am I the one that has to have all of the bad things? Sick self, sick sister, sick mother, car accidents… When is it going to end? Is our luck going to run out?

I’ve been walking around for the past few weeks being afraid to say good-bye to parents. I’m always scared it will be the last time I see them. The night my dad flew abroad a week and a half ago, I didn’t sleep. At all. I was too scared. There was a storm a few days ago, with thunder shaking up the house. My mom left to go to the doctor, leaving me in charge of the kitchen where we happened to be cooking up our own storm. I was left alone in charge of everything that was cooking at the time, frying this, measuring that, checking on that, stirring whatever. The thunder was so loud, I was in such a frenzy multitasking, I just suddenly got this feeling that something really, really bad was happening, right at that second. As my mom was leaving, my sister was trying to get the other car to start so she could drive herself to the physical therapist’s office, a five-minute drive. The car alarm went off, and it wouldn’t stop. It was the siren, the thunder, the sizzling, and I felt like I was drowning. Drowning in worry, I guess.

I didn’t burn any of the food. My sisters complained that the chicken was a little underdone. My family made it home okay. My dad is safe, far away at work. I told myself to calm down. I wrote in my diary that I’m really scared something is going to happen to one of my loved ones, and told myself that now I could let it be and try to move on. But then I was talking to my friends, and they all said that even with school pressure and things, they still felt like it was going to be a really great week. I was the only one that did not agree. I couldn’t help it, I was upset and worried, still. I told them I had a bad feeling about the week.

Then today I woke up, and my mom pulled me aside as I headed to get some breakfast and whispered, “she was in another car accident”. She whispered because she could barely bare to say the words. Now I’m alone at home, sitting in my room and writing. I actually woke up today, with this feeling that maybe I could make this week be a little more fun. I decided to have a dance party, but who can dance on an empty stomach?

So I never had my dance party. All my energy went to my sister, I have none left right now. I still have to go to school, and I have art later. I’m exhausted.

I don’t know why this is happening. I’m not sure I ever will. Just please, please, whoever makes these decisions, take pity on us already. We’re good people. My parents, my sisters, myself – we’re all very good, decent people. We don’t deserve this. I know no one does, but still, we really don’t. We have enough troubles already.

We don’t need more.

If you’re religious, any kind of religion, pray for us. If you’re not, just hope in your hearts for my family and me that we’ll be okay. I’ll take any help I can get at this point.

I’m scared,

Ella

Song quote:

Alice, there’s no reflection in the looking glass, you wear your party dress but there’s no party to attend… She’s looking for a way to escape and wondering whether she can find a way out without being seen… There’s no one left in paradise, just a pack of cards without the hearts. –Alice, Mononoke

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Colloquial Miss

 

What a colloquial miss. We tried, we really did. This is just the I-don’t-know-how-many-I’ve-lost-count day that has gone down this way. My friends are all away, having themselves some great adventures, and I made my peace with the fact that I was going to be sticking out our weeklong break at home (sweet home). I had a highlight planned: completing the first step in the agonizingly long process of getting my driver’s license.

First thing’s first, I have to get my “green slip”- green as in go. Or Kermit. It’s mainly a technicality, an eyesight check, but you need it before you can start everything. I’ve been spending my days trying to catch up on homework, which I’m somehow still behind on, and I haven’t had any fun. At all. This was the one thing I was really looking forward to. The first step- it’s so momentous.

When you go, they make sure you don’t need glasses, take your picture (which is the one that will go on your license) and hand you your green slip. So, I purposely straightened my bangs today, picked out a shirt that makes my neck look great (just go with it) and brings out the blue in my eyes, and put on a tad of make up. I spent the whole entire day doing homework, primarily math (a whooping 65 geometry proofs and differential math equations for over vacation), making it through solely because I had something to look forward to. I was alone at home all day, with the excitement just growing and throbbing inside of me, pulsing with my heart.

My mom swooped by the house at a quarter to seven, and we drove to the mall, to the store that green slips people (awkward verb improvisation going on here). We arrive, after my long day of anticipation, and my mom and I talk about how exciting all of this is, and how it’s such a big step even though it’s a technicality. We walk into the store, tell them why we’re there and what do they say? “We don’t do that anymore”. You’re kidding me right?

We find out that as of a few days ago or something equally annoying in a ridiculous manner, a store on the main street is in charge of green slipping people. My puffed up plastic bag of anticipation started deflating. My mom and I leave the mall, get back in the car and start driving again. It was so anticlimactic. She agrees with me. We parked in the municipal parking lot off of the Main Street and start in our mad dash to find the infamous store. We’re running, running, running, (running), and we arrive out of breath as we see the overhead sign. We practically leap forward, and guess what? It’s closed. It closed at seven.

You’re frickin’ kidding me, right?! RIGHT?!

Wrong.

Closed.

That plastic bag still half full of spitty air? Punctured. Slashed. Empty. Hollow. Deflated. Depressing. Gone. Lost for eternity.

In an attempt to rebound into something positive, we brought my memory stick over to a photography store to get the pictures on it developed. All’s great, all’s well, until they let us know that because they’re closing soon, we’ll need to come back tomorrow to pick up the pictures. Yippee.

So we got frozen yogurt.

But do you know what this means? This means, that when we go back tomorrow my hair will be oily, I will no longer be wearing my perfect picture shirt, I’ll have dark circles under my eyes (because I can’t sleep when I’m upset) and I will have no spitty bag of anticipation. I will look tired and depressed in my picture. And the lighting in that store is awful. I will end up looking grotesque.

But here’s to being optimistic, eh?

As we were sitting outside the frozen yogurt shop, while I drowned my sorrows in banana-date flavored yogurt, I explained to my mom why the situation sucks so much. I was just getting to the part about how I look pretty today, and I won’t tomorrow, when someone walked right by our table. So a random woman got a mouthful about how “I looked pretty today!!!” My mom started laughing when the woman looked back at us, and tried to console me with the fact that at least it wasn’t a boy from my class. You know why it wasn’t one of them? Because they’re all abroad! I’ve got friends right now in Rome, Barcelona, Amsterdam, Switzerland, Thailand, New York… Everywhere but right here, suffering with me. Although I think J will be back from Barcelona soon. Maybe I can depress her too. Here’s to hoping.

You know what? I wasn’t planning on doing this tomorrow. This is messing up my schedule! I’m lying, I have no plans. It’s just annoying. It’s doubly sad: I need to go there again, and I don’t have any plans.

I’m just gonna go to bed now. I think it’s safe.

It’s me,

Ella

Song Quote:

The worst things in life come free to us. –The A Team, Ed Sheeran

P.s. You know what? I’m gonna wear this shirt again. Take that.

Let It All Rain Down

It looks good doesn’t it? Well you’re about to be told you can’t eat it. Then it’s going to drip, and rain down on your brand new boots, and you’re going to slip in the puddle of your own misery. I’m in a good mood.

I want to quit. I’m sick of feeling this way, like I’m doomed, because of the pile of homework that is staring at me. I want to quit advanced math and advanced biology. They’re making me miserable. I’m just barely managing to go to school every day, and they’re making it impossible for me to ever feel okay.

I don’t think I can do school. I just don’t think I can do it. I know there are harder things in life, but I don’t see how it’s possible for me to survive this. Actually, let me rephrase that: I don’t see how I can survive this while not losing my mind and my health.

Guys, I’m so tired. It’s insane. My entire body feels like it needs to stop and wheeze every time I try to move because I just have no energy. Every day I wake up and something else is hurting me, and I just have to deal with it. I don’t have a choice. I don’t get to say, “well, it’s my fault, because I should be going to bed earlier”, then change my ways and see results. I get eight or nine hours of sleep every night, and it makes no difference. My pain and fatigue are the same.

The homework, the pressure, the stress: it’s all becoming a little much for me. I have a stiff neck right now on top of it all, and I literally can’t look down, so homework has become this hill I can’t climb over. Every teacher thinks they are teaching the only subject that matters, so they happily grant us the gift of hours of work, without thinking about the fact that maybe we have other stuff to do.

I don’t want to complain about it anymore. I don’t think it would help. I just want to officially put it out there: I am sick of this. My brain is tired, my body is tired, my neck is tense and my patience is gone.

 

_______________________________

 

My school is going on a trip next week. I don’t know how I’ll manage. It’s a three day trip, so for now the plan is for me to leave with the school in the morning (5:45 am), and in the afternoon let my mom know how I’m doing: if I’m fine, she’ll come the following afternoon to pick me up, and if I’m not, she’ll come that evening. The thing is though, that I can’t do any of the hikes, so I’m just going on the bus with them (the student body), dropping them off at the trail, and then going with a bunch of teachers and the secretary to do the food shopping. Then we go pick them up, and when we get back to camp, I’m on kitchen duty (every year, 11^th grade is in charge of food). So I’m basically there to be the mom.

Last year I missed the trip entirely, which pretty much sucked. I don’t want that this year, so here I am. I just hope it’s worth it. I have a feeling that ten minutes into the bus ride I’m going to feel sick to my stomach, and half an hour later my head will explode. Then I’ll go do the shopping, and I’ll hurt my neck and knees. When I get on the bus and pick everyone else up, I’ll get a horrible migraine. When I’m working in the kitchen, I’ll hurt my hands. Not to mention I’ll be having cramps all day.

But I’m not pessimistic at all.

Dammit, I just want to have a good time and feel like a normal human being! Is that too much to ask for?!

Virtual hugs are welcome,

Ella

 

Song Quote:

Let it all rain down from the blood-stained clouds, come out, come out, to the sea my love, and just drown with me. –Shallows, Daughter

P.s. Yes, I know the song quote is dramatic and depressing. It matches my mood. It is what it is.

The Humorous Side

For quite a while now, I’ve been trying to find something humorous in every situation I’m in. It comes pretty naturally to me, in most situations at least. For example, I always laugh when doctors want to listen to me breathe, or feel my stomach. Something about those two requests that they utter makes me laugh, and I try to contain it, because it’s a little weird, but now I’m embracing it.

I’ve had an interesting couple of days. If you’ve read my previous post, you’ll know that last week was interesting too, and it seems to be becoming a theme. I’m embracing that too. Sort of.

I hate math. That said, I take it super seriously in school. My teacher has this schtick where he’s convinced that we won’t be able to finish all the material we need for the exam at the end of the year on time. Therefore, he wants us to come in on our day off school to study for four hours (that’s 240 minutes) in a row, so that we can be ready for the exam. Now obviously this is very complicated and upsetting for us because we have a day off for a reason and we don’t want to spend it doing math. We’ll get back to this later.

I was doing my homework the other day, and there was this question that I couldn’t get, so I went to my sister and asked for help (she’s studying computer engineering). She (and her friend, who happened to be there) figured it out, then taught me a certain technique we haven’t learnt yet, but that the question seemed to require. After that, I called my teacher and told him about it, but he was adamant that it could work the way he had taught us.

Okay.

In our next class, it turns out that every single student couldn’t answer that question, so he starts doing it on the board. Then he stops… falters…. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”

Okay.

In class today, he “got back to it”. He said that it’s a very complicated question, we don’t need to know how to answer it, and that it is really only meant to be done with a certain technique. The very specific technique that my sister taught me. I was right. Just saying. (Correction: my sister was right. Credit where it’s due).

Then, he led the conversation to his favorite topic (this is the aforementioned ‘later’)- when is the next time we’re going to come in for our dose of torture by complete boredom? I had said all I had to say on the matter, which is that I don’t think we need these extra lessons and I don’t like them, but I’m keeping my schedule free so I can come whenever it works out for everyone to show up. Being completely sure that everyone knows where I stand, I just kept working on the question that was on the board and trying to tune everyone out. Like that ever works. Want a play by play of everything that was said? Okay.

Actually no, it would probably be very tedious to read. If I nickname my teacher Ree, I’ll just give you a general overview (and yes, I’ve now nicknamed the math teachers Ree and Ran):

-Ree told us that usually, in every school, in our entire country, in the entire world (his words), students have to come in over spring break to study math for the exams, but because we tend to travel he can’t rely on that, therefore we really need to figure out dates for when we can come in on our day off. He wants at least twice a month.

-Ree thinks we’re being childish, and need to “show some maturity” and figure it out already. By next lesson he wants a sheet with all of the dates.

-Ree: “You’re going to have to pass up on social events and family gatherings. This is important, guys. Again, show some maturity. Next time your parents offer to take you travelling somewhere in the world, you’re just going to say no because this is important.”

-Ree is fed up with us. He declares that if we can’t tell him right away that we’re willing to give up our lives for math (he’s so dramatic), he can no longer teach us. He can’t work this way. He’s going to go to the principal, and the other math teacher Ran, because it just won’t work this way.

I don’t have much to add; this sums itself up. Now comes the part where I tie in what I talked about in my opening paragraph. Humor: there is a humorous side of this. I am sure of it. I’ll let you know if I find it.

No, I’m kidding. I found it humorous while it was happening. How can you not when a grown man is being so overly dramatic about something you know is dumb? My friend mentioned later that she volunteers on her day off, and I agree with what she said: points in heaven are way more important than points on a math test. At least us students have our priorities straight.

After Ree made it very clear to us that we are the ones that have to come up with a solution, I started trying to say this and a few others chimed in: okay, we will, now can you please teach us some math? Now remember I had solved the question while everyone was arguing, so when Ree turned to the board and said “somebody do these calculations”, I said “It comes out to two and a half.” Ree snaps around, looks at me, I try not to laugh, and repeat, “the calculations. The answer is  two and a half”. Ree just kind of nods, writes it down, and I can’t even remember what happened later.

I have one thing to say to you Ree: get over yourself.

Wow, that felt good.

I have more to tell you all. I went to acupuncture for the first time yesterday, and I had an amazing experience while there. I think I’ll write about it separately though. Be sure to check back for it soon, it will be called “The First Time”*.

For now, I just have another few things to tell you. The first one is, I finished my drawing! We framed it, I took a picture of it, and it’s down below, after the song quote (as usual). Second, I have now officially been on a yeast free diet for 22.3 hours. Yeah. Third, test season is starting soon, so my plan is to write a bunch of pieces and store them for when I’m super stressed and don’t have time to think whimsically. I’m letting you know because… well, I actually don’t have a reason. Just so you know, I guess.

Be humorous!!!

Love,

Ella

Song Quote:

Someday we’ll laugh about it. –All About You, Birdy

All done!!! The angle here is really random, but it’s the only way I could manage to show the whole drawing without showing my reflection…

This picture was taken before I put the finishing touches on, but it shows the whole drawing much better than the picture I tried to take after it was framed… (I showed this picture in my previous post)

This drawing goes incredibly well with the theme of this post… I’m impressed with myself for not having planned it. The original photo was from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/artetetra/2401088691/in/set-72157600061371063

Pictures of earlier stages are shown in:

To Create, It’s Called Perseverance, Game

*EDIT: 10.23.13 – I never ended up writing “The First Time” (it’s not what you’re thinking, trust me), so I’m just going to kind of, maybe, sorta leave you all hanging… deepest apologies, everyone. I had another acupuncture session that unfortunately clouded over the glow of the first one, and since I just can’t seem to get back into that initial buoyancy. Again, apologies from me to you.

Apparently, I am simple.

What I felt like doing the second I got out of his office…

I went back to the homeopath, the one that “I’m Not That Simple”  is about. Joyful, right? Well.

First thing he says to me is “Ella. You look better.” I got this feeling inside that I was about to have the most wonderful experience of my entire life. Really. I’m being serious.

No I’m not. First, he did the same thing that annoyed me last time (which I could say about a hundred things, so I’ll be specific). He read out every symptom I have, and asked me if I still have each one.

Me: We can just skip this, I feel exactly the same.

Dr: Exactly the same?

Me: Yes.

Dr: But you look better.

Me: I tanned.

Dr: You have more color in your face.

Me: Because I tanned.

Dr: So you still have the head aches?

Me: Yes.

Dr: And they still start in the morning?

Off we go again, repeating it all. I’m really not going to rant about this too much, I did that last time. The one major thing that bothered me (again) was that he was still trying to peg my Fibromyalgia on one specific event.

Dr: Ella, what do you think happened that gave you Fibromyalgia?

Me: I don’t know.

Dr: (pulls a snotty face) you can give a better answer than that, Ella. (Annoying usage of my name.)

Me: I don’t know. It happened. Life happens.

Dr: What do you mean by that?

Me: What do you mean what do I mean? Stuff happens, in life. Fibromyalgia happened.

Dr: So there wasn’t anything specific?

Me: No. We went over this last time.

Dr: Well Ella, I can’t remember everything.

Clearly. I was starting to get very upset at this point, because I know they have to ask, and often Fibro is caused by accidents or traumatic incidents, but we had already been over it. We had already told him it wasn’t like that, and that it wasn’t a psychological trigger. It literally just happened. I started getting this pain, then a year later, that pain, a few months later, another, and within another few months I was a wreck, and we were scrambling for appointments at the children’s hospital to get me diagnosed. It happened. It’s happening.

Do you want to hear the best part?

Dr: Oh, now Ella’s angry. She’s got that fire in her eyes. You definitely seem better than last time.

Me: Yeah, last time I was kind of having a bad day (slightly sarcastic, you can imagine).

Dr: A very bad day.

Me: Yeah. Thanks.

That’s it, I’m done now. It sucked. He put me on a new “remedy” (didn’t explain this one either), and just to make it more fun, I have to take it twice a day rather the one, like last time. I eat like a bird, people. I need food, every 20 minutes. With this remedy, I have to not eat anything for half an hour, take it, then wait another half hour before eating. The problem is, I forget to take it until I get hungry, and then I think, shit. The medicine. So I take it, but that extra half hour is torture because I’m already really hungry.

But, it seems I will just have to deal.

I get major points for not losing my temper.

Your truly,

Ella

Song Quote:

A white blank page and a swelling rage… So tell me now, where was my fault? -White Blank Page, Mumford and Sons

P.s. What do you guys think about me adding a page (next to Home and About) about Fibromyalgia? The technicalities, I mean, what it is (to the best of my ability), what my personal experience is, sources for more info? Let me know.

 

Update (07.24.13): I’m off an vacation in a few days, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to post again or when I can sit down and work on the info page (I probably won’t have access to wifi for a while). Sit tight, I will return with a lot to tell, and the info page will make its way here. Thank you all again!

I’m Not That Simple

 

I am a person, with feelings, memories, thoughts, opinions, experiences, and a personality. I can’t be described in 140 characters, you can’t get to know me in an hour, and you won’t ever be able to know what I’m thinking.

I had a not so fun experience yesterday. It involved a man, who calls himself a homeopath, who kind of pissed me off. Sorry for the language. I have this little thing, which is that I hate doctors. I’m sure I’m not alone in that. When I was younger, I quite liked them. I would have a sore throat, show up, they would give us a slip of paper, that got us some meds, and my throat would get better. Magic.

But now, the same process occurs, every single time, no matter which doctor it is. I come in, already upset (because I hate doctors), and my mom and I sit down on their uncomfortable chairs. My mom pulls out my humongous medical binder, and hands them a bunch of papers. They take their time, reading it out loud, because of course, I don’t already know what they say. They look up and make disbelieving eye contact when they read about the Fibromyalgia, the cancer, the narrow angles. What is there not to believe?

Then they give me this smile, and say something along the lines of “your life sucks”. But in a condescending way, which is very simply rude. Then they make me repeat everything they just read, and whenever I mention a pain, they ask me what relieves it. I tell them nothing. They repeat me. You know what, I’ll just write this out, it’ll be easier.

Me: My head aches are probably what bother me the most.

Dr: The head aches?

Me: Yes.

Dr: So what helps those?

Me: Nothing.

Dr: Nothing?

Me: Nope.

Dr: You haven’t found anything that helps?

Me: That’s what I’m telling you.

Dr: *disbelieving eye contact, insert variation of “your life sucks”*

Me: *Sigh*

Dr: So what else hurts?

And the whole process repeats itself, over and over again. Then they ask me to step up onto the bed, and they poke me. Literally. Then they ask me if that hurt. I say yes. For instance, the “homeopath” yesterday decided to tap my face (where there are a billion Fibro trigger points). It went like this:

Me: Ow.

Dr: It hurts when I tap your face?

Me: Yes.

Dr: How about now?

Me: You’re still tapping my face, and it still hurts.

Dr: How about if I tap lightly?

Me: Seriously, anytime you tap my face, it’s going to hurt.

Dr: *mumbling* wow, your pain threshold is very low.

Me: No shit, Sherlock. That’s why I’m here.

Although that last line is only said in my head, because I don’t like swearing. Swearing is reserved for doctors.

Anyway, all of that happens every time I go to the doctor, and I put up with it every time. What really pissed me off yesterday was that the “homeopath” told me he wanted to get to know me, know what kind of person I am, because that affects what might help me. So he asked me to describe myself, using a few words. Insert the first paragraph here. So my mom took over, and I just let her talk to him. Then, he was trying to find out if something specific happened that triggered my fibromyalgia. I told him there was nothing, that it just started slowly coming on.

Then my mom said something along the lines of “there’s stress in life, because it’s life. A lot of stuff has been going on for us, if that’s what you’re asking”. Then he asked her what she meant, and she said, “for instance, my mother passed away a couple of years ago”. At which point I started crying, because… because.

So this stupid “homeopath” started trying to connect my Fibromyalgia, with force, to my grandmother dying. He only stopped when I gave him a look and said “I don’t understand why we need to be talking about this”. I’m pretty sure he was scared of me, because he seemed to shrink and changed the subject. Guess what he changed it to? “Do you get angry?”

My god, of course I get angry! For instance, I’m angry at you right now! That’s what I wanted to shout at him. But I didn’t.

Me: I’m human, I get angry sometimes.

Dr: Like when?

Me: When it’s right.

Dr: Do you get angry easily?

Me: I have a lot of patience, if that’s what you’re asking.

Dr: *Insert disbelieving look here.*

Wait, I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet! “Mom, does Ella like being hugged?” I’m not kidding right now. He asked that. So my mom, bless her, said “Of course she does! Gently, of course, so it doesn’t hurt, but she’s a very loving person”. So he turns to me and he says “So who do you give this love to, Ella?” People, you should have seen the look I gave him. As my dad says, if looks could kill…. I crossed my legs and said “The people who deserve it”.

Insert disbelieving look here. Sensing a theme?

I could just go on and on, with all of the horrible things this guy said over an hour. But I won’t, because it’s probably not very interesting or fun to read.

My point is, this “homeopath” decided he had to get to know me, and that he could simply do so. Yeah, right. Jerk.

He ended the meeting with “So Ella, you’re a warm, creative, responsible person. Therefore, I’m going to give you these pills, because with the kind of person you are, that’s what could help”. He set them on the desk in front of me.

Me: What do they do?

Dr: They help even out your body, so it can cope with what its going through.

Me: How do they do that?

Dr: What do you mean?

Me: I mean, there’s a substance in those pills that’s supposed to even me out. How does it do that? What’s the substance?

Dr: That would be a very long discussion.

Me: So?

Dr: These will help, that’s what is important.

Which made me feel like he’s a drug dealer, or that I’m being checked into a psych hospital. What’s for sure, he was totally scared of me at this point.

Me: What does my personality have to do with the pills?

Dr: Sometimes an illness comes to a person, and sometimes the opposite.

Me: And…

Dr: If a person falls, it breaks a bone. The doctors fix the bone, but then, the recovery depends on the person.

Me: Unless the doctors suck and mess something up. But recovery depends on the person’s character, his situation, his support system. Not the pills he’s taking.

I don’t even remember how he answered that one.

I was very happy to leave that office. Except I have to go back in a few weeks. Oh well. I’ll come up with some witty retorts for next time.

You, lovely readers, don’t assume you know me after an hour. That’s why you rock.

Yours truly,

Ella

Song Quote:

Don’t wanna sound ridiculous, but I think you know I’m sick of this. -My Oldest Friend, Andrew Belle

The Life of a Nightmare

Birds sing. It wakes me up, and that’s how my day begins.  I go to school, where I’m liked enough by my peers to not be picked on. My teachers generally think well of me, which is a good thing. I have clothing on my back, clothing that I like, and I’m not ugly.

I work hard at school, and I see the results. I have a couple of friends who care about me. I live close enough to school that I can walk home, and I listen to music, which always makes me happy.

Once home, I have relative freedom. My parents love me. I have two sisters. I have my own computer, and my own room. I have space to do my homework. I can have friends over if I’d like. I live in a fairly safe town (in a not so safe country). I don’t have to be afraid to step out of my door.

Truly, if I look at myself from afar, I can see why people think my life must be great. I have what others covet. Supposedly.  Other people might think of my life as a dream. I appreciate what I have, I’m aware of how wonderful it is to have these things.

But I’m living a nightmare. An invisible nightmare, to those who aren’t me.

When the birds sing, it hurts my head. When I wake up, I awake to pain.  When I go to school, I’m faced with the horrible truth: I’m no kid anymore. I’m light-years older than everyone else, because I have to be.

Everything that sounds good on that list, is awful is you’re feeling constant pain. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t exist, without something about my body being wrong. Our bodies were designed to work. Not to spread pain. With one pain, comes another, and my body tries to adjust. But it can’t. Because pain is a domino, and my body can’t let its guard down.

And people think they should covet what I have. I want to throw a tantrum, kick my legs, punch teddy bears and scream at the world: why was I given this? I want to grab the world by its neck, shake it, and make it realize something: just because something looks great, doesn’t mean it is. But more importantly: just because someone looks okay, it doesn’t mean that they are.

To you, something may look like a dream. But more likely, it’s a nightmare.

I can’t sleep at night,

Ella

Song Quote:

Look into my eyes, it’s where my demons hide. -Demons, Imagine Dragons