I'm sick of needing strong pain killers. The amount I need to take now just to take off the edge of the jaw pain is enough to numb my entire body except for what needs to be numb. As hard as I try not to take them... and after a year of rehab after being addicted years ago - I try fucking hard... but I'm suffering so much. The low from it is what's killing me. The constant depression isn't from them... but they don't fucking help. I had to raise the dose of steroids again because of how sick I have gotten since the lung issue -A few weeks ago, an artery in my left lung blew. Out of no where. I had emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. I had a hard time waking up, I'm lucky I did. I was out for 30+ hours. My PTSD is caused from living in the hospital for a year when everything first started in my sophomore year of high school. When I tried to de-admit myself from the hospital after the surgery, the red tape got thick. If you leave when they don't want you to and need to end up going back, insurance does not cover it. I'm so grateful to have insurance. Too bad it's going to out soon and I'm not well enough to work. I get disability insurance as well but it doesn't pay for all what I need. It's all thanks to my mom to have what I have.
I feel so worthless in this world. After my isolation ended it's like I've forgotten how to be in a social setting. I get nervous and hesitant, freeze up and panic. The last few weeks have been so rough on me, and I've been emotionally and mentally unstable since early summer. After the lung incident everything got fucked up. My doctors in New England won't work together. Burlington wants nothing to do with me because I'm a transplant patient.... and Boston wants nothing to do with me because my one year is over. I need help almost more than ever right now and I'm trying as hard as I can, as is my family, to get that. It's not working.
I feel so trapped, I feel like a monster. Something different. Something hideous. I want to hear that I'm beautiful. I want my hair to be thicker so it doesn't look like I've had cancer, have strong enough legs to be able to wear heels, not have hernias that show in my stomach so I could dress nice. I want to gain weight so that I can wear jeans and not sweats everyday. I don't want to look anorexic. I don't want to care about physical beauty, but the way I look at myself is a huge problem of it's own. That's something I don't blame myself entirely on, though. He started the wreckage.
I want to experience peace of mind... like I did after everything went to hell.. but then by miracle, got better. I had that before. I had happiness. I knew who I was, and was content with that. I wanted to live and was happy for everything I got through because it made me stronger. I've lost myself, what I stand for, and the smile's been so fake since it all re-started that my face is tired of putting on that look and how I really feel is starting to show through... one of my biggest fears. I'm not myself and haven't been for awhile. That's the thing I want the most, I want to feel like Mariah Fawn again - not a constantly drug induced depressed worthless speck of life on a little green and blue planet that makes no sense to me.
I know there are millions suffering more than I am. But why can't I have one thing be wrong? Just one illness... one problem, or even just be affected physically instead of mentally and psychologically as well. Clearly, my life doesn't work that way. Been coughing and had sinusitis since Thanksgiving 2010 - over a year... even before the transplant. Sure, the transplant worked... but was it worth it? You know how I felt being the youngest Bone Marrow Transplant patient in the Boston clinic... and the sickest - when the problems weren't even from transplant?
I have so much I can do to keep myself entertained, but it's gotten to that point that I don't give a fuck anymore. I don't have the motivation to even put in a video game or draw because I'm so miserable. There's so much I want to do but just can't do it. I want to beat Super Mario Galaxy so I can start SMG2 that I got. I want to finish a drawing for a friend that I started months ago and wanted to have done for Christmas. I want the pictures for another piece of artwork to come together instead of sitting there on my table looking at me. There are books I want to read. Pictures I want to take. Keep working on the book I started writing. People I want to see. I'm not a lazy person. I'm just down too far and can't get out of the hole to do things.
I was so excited to start college in an actual classroom. I signed up for Graphic Design and Psychology of Consciousness - both things that I feel passionate about. I felt like doing this would bring up my mood, make me feel worthwhile and give me something to do as well as keep my education going. If I'm not better in a few weeks I'll have to drop the classes. Both are offered online, but that's not even worth it. When I took online courses before I hated knowing that I had to do them online because I couldn't be present. It's like a wheelchair. They're fun until you actually need it, and when you actually do you don't want to be around it.
I hate to complain. But sometimes, I feel like I need to do it more than I do.
2011 brought me another year of survival. I made it to my 20th birthday, and was told I would be dead by my 19th.
But did I really luck out?
