My story

Sure, I COULD bore you with my story, but this is far more colorful.

At this point (16 YEARS and counting), this is a sick joke.

Every day is just as repetitive as the last in my living nightmare. My limbo hełl.

I just got a great idea! Let’s play, “What are the Odds?”

Here, I’m going to flip this quarter 20 times. Bet I can make it come up Heads 20 times in a row! Impossible? Why am I so confident?

BECAUSE, SILLY GOOSE! I’M TOLD THOSE ARE THE SAME ODDS OF ME BEING LIKE THIS!

Wait, in “reality”, coins don’t come up heads 20 times in a row?

Riiiiight. My “life” definitely isn’t some joke. Suurrre.

By the way, I have a bridge for sale in Brooklyn.

And don’t get me started with existence itself…

I was born going, “Uhh…WTF. How did I get here?”, started remembering things at 10, got my bearings at 20, got screwed over before I finished my 20’s, totally missed my 30’s, am halfway through my 40’s, am living on borrowed time (most people like me last a decade or so) and get to look forward to either some kind of mind-wipe/reincarnation back to this lunatic asylum or a eternity of timelessness from which I can never, NOT exist.

I’m Lovin’ It.

Back to my liquid-based feeding of fake, sugar water.

And a sea of people that I get to observe, chuckle at, and vicariously live through.

Like I haven’t done this 5,826 times before.

Almost forgot – did I mention that my right eye has, because I can’t close it, dried up, scarred over and it’s now blurry to the point of being useless? Yes, as if being a mute quadriplegic wasn’t enough, the universe has added to the Jurassic beatdown with a kick to the groin saying, “And now you’re half blind, beeotch!” To say nothing of the perpetual, metaphysical trauma that’s now on my plate.

So why the hell am I still like this? If this were some kind of ‘wake-up call’, fine. So where the heck is the finger snap to put me back together again? I’d swear I heard one over my shoulder the morning it happened.

Other than my initial care back in 2006/2007, the medical establishment can’t do jack for me. God is nowhere to be seen (though it’s not in my nature to badmouth – after all, God is God). I can’t move on my own (it’s like being buried up to your neck in cement).

I can’t believe that I ever bought the bullshit of, “This isn’t like a Spinal Cord Injury – those people will never recover. You have a road to recovery!” when this first happened.

Shit. At least those people can talk.

Have a nice day. Maybe I should ask my doctor if Fukitol is right for me.

And if you made it this far, you must really be interested – you deserve the link to My actual story.