I am the luckiest… or am I?

Luck is such a subjective thing.

I have been told, multiple times by multiple people, that I’m lucky.
That I’m lucky to not have to work. To go to school. That I have all the free time I could want.
That I can just loaf around and play video games/read/watch whatever I want.
That I get in home services, like PCA and home help. That I’m possibly moving into assisted living (well, most likely and it’s about a 95% chance).
Lucky. Sure.

I spend every day of my life in pain. Every. Day. I cannot tell you what it’s like to not be in pain.
I throw up several times a week. My weight is now officially underweight. My body is falling more and more apart. I am sick all the time. My doctors express constant concern.
I am shuffled from doctor to doctor, specialist to specialist.
I am lonely. So incredibly lonely.

I have lost friends over it. Because I can’t keep commitments. Because I “flake out”.
Because they don’t, or can’t, understand what it’s like.

I fight for my services. I fight for my medications.
I deal with providers who don’t give a shit and decide that I’m not worth seeing.
That I’m not worth working with.
That their needs are greater than mine, so they just don’t show up with no warning.

This is luck? This is being lucky?
This is what it’s all about?

I may be able to get my debt forgiven for student loans. Lucky there? A bit, maybe.
But it means I can’t go back to school. It means I won’t get a degree, ever.
It means I’m trapped in the cycle of having no purpose. 




Nothing (To My Father)

This is a poem I wrote senior year of high school. Now that my father has passed away, it’s even more interesting (to me, anyway) to read something I wrote nine years ago.


I reflect upon the past,
wondering if I knew the truth
or if I was fooled, and what I knew was

What happened to make things change?
When did you quit loving me?
Did you ever truly love me, or am I

Stop tormenting me!
Yet why should you love me?
Whatever did I do; am I just

You used your tricks to harm me,
and wounded me by your words.
Some scars never heal,

Your priorities were distorted
Alcohol was your idol,
I realized I was simply

I believe Family is the most important thing
You claimed it.
Yet your actions proved otherwise,

The lies begins to come out,
I’m victim to your hypocrisy,
and fading into

As I learned the truth,
and free myself from your grasp
I realize that I was never

Starting live anew,
running free from the past
learning to live without you, no longer

And in the end,
I realize at last
it is not I, but it is you who is