Be your own kinda beautiful

Over the years I have been the voice for so many friends and strangers. Uplifting and helping them through the tough transition of needing mobility devices. I have told people off. I have held people crying. I have enjoyed putting smiles on faces even if it’s just body doubling them as the walk around the store etc. mind you CNA for almost 20 years!

This year I have been extra dependent on my cane. My sister had a very sweet conversation with me about a trip we our taking our families on. The inability I may not be able to last all day. The theme park you can rent a chair. The anxiety set in once I did the research. The theme park have a first come first serve rental system. In order to by pass all stress of having a bad time I PURCHASED MY VERY FIRST WHEELCHAIR. My sweet step son sat with me for two hours while I dove off the deep end head first. Measuring. Researching. Debating. Crying. I ordered one with confidence.

Fast forward to the next day and the anxiety to a situation that happened the end of April. My other two sister changing my name on messenger to “No Spoon Having Ass” mass panic set in. Why is the world such a dark place. To make things worse why is family the biggest abusers of all. They watch you struggle and push through. Yet, they still belittle and torment you till you place your self in a box till you become shit in and disassociated? I think I’m pretty successful. I work two jobs. I push through and still manage to keep going even with two kids, a declining father, business oriented partner.

Some days I feel like throwing my hands in the air. Giving up. I have hard days that I really struggle with my body. I can’t show that side to anyone. It’s better to suffer in silence. That’s what I have been told. Now that it’s ingrained into my head from my past. Be silent push through. Live for others because are not worthy of love.

Working two full time jobs. Paying bills with no saving and nothing to show. Nothing to say you see all this hard work bought that dream home, dream car, that big garden, nothing.

I never want to be looked at as ya she is the sick girl. She who cries wolf. She who is helpless or worthless. So… I sit silent. Broken. Forgot.

Lately more insecurity come up.

I thought I was at the bottom.

Suddenly I’m swallowed whole.

Darkness creeps in.

If tomorrow this illness took my life. They would say. Not surprised. She was fat. She was didn’t take care of her self. Who would really know her enough to say she gave everything and expected nothing.

Here I sit crying inside never to show my broken piece. Never to ask for help to be glued back together.

Forever that back shelf porcelain doll.

Day after day the feeling never goes away. After a 8 year marriage 9 years together. The trauma of being yelled at and having things thrown at my face for even stating I was tired after a 16 hour shift. It’s hard to openly talk about all the things In the picture. Happily divorced and found my person.

Things I wish I could say without ridicule:

This was not in my job description.

I think it’s unfair that we have assigned parking and I’m the furthest parking spot away from the door based off I’m the youngest when I am indeed permanently disabled and have the paperwork to prove it and a handicap parking permit.

My body is relapsing and I need to have the day off or work from home.

My legs lost feeling. I CANT WALK A-HOLE!

I need help.

Why am I always the responsible adult.

I know there are many medications for this issue. We don’t share a body. In return you don’t know my pain tolerance or my thrush-hold. Trust me. If I wanted medication I’ll go to a doctor’s office.