I’ve exhausted my list of “Fun things to do if you’re single and alone.” I think it’s “awesome” that the pool of guys I get to choose from are either unemployed, creepy, or just plain boring. I “love” that I never get to shop for the perfect butt jeans. I especially dig how flattering most dresses are for my She-Man figure with my disproportionately huge arms and skinny legs. Yup. Just call me SuperHot. Nothing’s more fun than mopping up my own pee after my bladder decides to play the good ol’ “Guess if I’m going to be bitchy and spastic or not today” while I’m already running late to work. F***MySci. I’m sick of this life.
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
I dont want to go on living like this, but I’m not ready to die. I’m too young. I want to see my children grow up. I want to be a part of their lives. Everything I’ve worked for, all the years of education… all for nothing. I want to have my career back, my marriage, my sense of normalcy. I want to make love to my wife again. Im not a welfare case! I used to be somebody! Where have my friends gone? Im just watching the wheels go round and round. How can people live with themselves? They ask if there is anything they can do … but they dont really mean it. Eventually, friends and family forget about you. You become like a piece of furniture …. Does anybody really care? FMySCI!
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Anonymous
FMySCI … I don’t wanna die out slowly, piece by piece thanks to chronic SCI. Make it one fell swoop. I’m starting to back-track on my ‘Not Dead Yet’ stance. All those trips I never took …
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Anonymous
just incredibly frustrated… 10yr reunion means facebook is blowing up with new friend requests… all these people are living glamorous lives, or are married and have a family… FMySCI.
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Anonymous
I’m pretty sure I would have been a dancer. My body naturally moves to music. My mother was a classical Indian dancer. If not, I would have been a musician because there is constantly an unwritten symphony running through my mind. My dad was once a lover of music, a poet. I know I would have been that person who looked you in the eye as I walked by you in the street, and smiled. Instead, I wheel down the sidewalk, with my head down, my dreams dashed. After all, a crippled dancer is only a sideshow freak; being a struggling musician, as idealistic as it sounds, won’t pay my medical bills, and I’ll avoid your gaze because I’d rather not catch your eye and see that look of pity, or curiosity as to how I became this anomaly on wheels.
FMySCI for stealing my dreams for the future.