Chronic illness

I Hate Water

I'm frustrated with myself. To be more accurate, my body. I have always struggle with drinking water and I have been dehydrated and sent to the hospital because of it three times already. When I was diagnosed with POTS, I never thought that water would be the golden ticket to functioning. It's not only that I hate water, it's that drinking 64 oz or more in a day has proven to make me nauseous. Putting anything in my stomach makes me nauseated.

So what's the solution? IV hydration therapy. I thought, wow I can't believe I can do it this way! Then after two months of getting stuck with needles twice a week, I realized that I couldn't endure long term. Not just because of nurses missing the vein and having to stick me again or the crazy bruising around every area they poke and not even just the poking itself. It was because long term veins train themselves not to get poked and I would have to get a port.

What is a port you ask? To be honest all I know is that it's a device that gets surgically inserted into your body and it allows you to get fluids from there. Yes I'm chronically ill and I'm used to tests, procedures, and needles but I have never had a surgery as an adult. So I thought I'd try to drink water on my own again. I can't describe the dark yellow color that my urine is right now. And I'm drinking as much as I can endure.

So I'm frustrated. I don't want to do this but I know I have to. I have to take care of my body even if it means doing things I don't like. Until then, I am going to do anything else to ignore the fact that I'm crazy dehydrated. Hopefully until I can set everything up, I won't be hospitalized.


Abuse Education 

Survivors of abuse, whether it’s physical, mental/emotional, or sexual, need support. Let’s be honest with ourselves, we don’t like talking about those things. It’s graphic and horrible but it’s time to start talking. 

I want to educate you on somethings that happen when someone is abused. If you have never learned about abuse, I want you to take what I say and remember it.

1. We survivors feel shame. Why? Because we think that our abuse is our fault. It is a huge lie that the abuser and society tries to tell us so that they don’t have to deal with the consequences of the abusers actions. I can tell someone all day that the shame that they feel belongs to the person that hurt them. Will that stop them from feeling that shame and guilt? Absolutely not. As the people surrounding them, we need to validate this. We need to change what they think is true but it is ultimately up to the survivor to make an effort to believe the truth.

2. People who haven’t been through abuse, say the stupidest things to the people who have. “Why didn’t you just leave?” “Why did you get so drunk?” “You should have called the cops.” It goes on and on. If you don’t know what to say, here’s a guide line: “I believe you.” “It is not your fault.” “Let me help you.” “Do you want to talk?” Remember that you have no idea what this person is going through and they need your help. They are using their strength to persevere and may not be in the right mind set. Like they my be constantly terrified. Someone may not be able to leave their situation because their abuser is in control of their money and other things they would need to leave. We should be on their side and help them make the right choices and not judge them for not making good decisions at the time. 

3. People who go through abuse are not the same after the abuse is over. They loose control over the basic things that they should have control over. They are violated by a person who is selfish and has no care for human life. I say that because the abuser chooses their need for power and control over the survivors life. The survivor is completely different because of this. They don’t trust, they are paranoid, and they are overwhelmed with sadness and depression. Each person turns out different through abuse but different nonetheless. So don’t expect someone to just pick up their life as it was and move on. What happened is apart of their lives forever and they will spend their lives with it effecting everything they do.

4. Not all abuse is the same. People like to compare situations with other people’s situations. Abuse in all forms cannot be compared to someone else’s. Someone who was molested cannot compare that situation to someone who was raped multiple times for a year. The two people would go through those experiences differently. People can be more sensitive then others. The person who was molested could take more time in therapy then the one who was raped. It’s all about individual experience. We stand independently together. 

5. Society needs to treat people who have been abused much better and differently. We look at Kesha’s case some people are not even phased. She has to work with the man that abused her. The court heard what she had to say about what happened to her, and they refused to terminate her contract with this man. Sony has agreed that she doesn’t have to work with him but every time she releases music and profits, he gets to profit off of her too. That’s absolutely horrendous. You wonder why people don’t report what happens to them. Don’t you think if they did and nothing happened to their abuser, the abuser would go after them? 

As someone who is a survivor, this is coming from my point of view. I decided to write this because I am tired of people not taking abuse seriously. I’m tired of survivors being treated the way they are because people are ignorant. We need to educate ourselves no matter how hard or difficult the topic may be. 


What Needed To Be Said…

Warning: this is about molestation. It does go into detail. 

I want to tell you a story. I had a dream that I was 13 again. I was in a court room with a jury, a lawyer, and him. I was subpoenaed to take the stand and answer the questions his lawyer had for me. 

“Are you ready?” The lawyer asked me shallowly. 

I replied with a question, “So you are going to ask me certain questions so that my answers make Mel look not guilty of something he is definitely guilty of?” 

“I’m trying to get the truth.” He said raising his eyebrows. 

I leaned forward towards the mic, “I am 13 years old and my cousin is 9. Mel is somewhere in his 50s. He lived with her for around 8 months before that night. It was a Friday, the first night of our 2 week Christmas break. It took 2 hours to get there, like usual, so it was late that night. We were celebrating Christmas early like we always did. We begged to open one present before we went to bed. My mom and her 2 sisters gave in. We got Christmas pajamas but mine were a bit too small so my stomach showed slightly…” 

“We don’t have all day..” his lawyer interjected. 

“All of this is relevant and the truth. Don’t minimize what happened to me.” He apologized and gestured me to continue. 

I clear my throat, “I wore the pjs anyway. Later I was in my cousin Warren’s room. We were sitting on his bed and playing video games. All of a sudden Mel stuck his head through the door. He wanted us to spend time with the others. We didn’t want to stop playing so we said no thanks. That’s when he started saying that Warren was into me. And that my cousin wanted to have sex with me. I was shocked, I shook it off as his crude humor. He left and I looked over at my cousin and asked if he would go out to where the others were. He agreed. Once we got there Mel was excited that we came and hugged me. I felt uncomfortable due to the fact that I was in puberty and I didn’t have a bra on…” 

“Did you tell your mom that he was saying those things?” He questioned. 

“No I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to think about those things.” 

Jotting something down he replied, “Continue.” 

I took a deep breath, “Shortly after that we were sent to bed. I slept in my 9 year old cousins bed with her, my mom and my aunt tete in my aunt Cindy’s bed, Mel in the living room with my aunt Cindy on the living room floor. Mel came into the room kissed us goodnight and drunkenly struggling to turn off the tv. He left and returned a while later and repeated the same thing. I was confused but I fell asleep right after my cousin. I woke up groggy and on my stomach. I felt heaviness on my legs but I didn’t process the fact that there was someone on top of me and they were licking and kissing the top of my butt untill moments later. I was terrified. I slowly turned my head to see who it was, and once I saw Mel I jolted back to laying flat. He noticed I was awake and slurred ‘shh go back to sleep.'” 

“Did you scream for help?” The lawyer asked connivingly. 

“I was in shock so no. I couldn’t find my voice for a while after it happened.” He nods and tells me to continue. 

“So  I replied to him telling him that I needed to go to the bathroom. I don’t know why I said it. But he got up, pulled up his pants, and backed into the corner of the room where it was darker since the moon was lighting up the room. I got down to the end of the bed to get up and I told myself not to look at him. But I looked up and saw his face. He looked back and he quickly got angry. He came after me and I ran to the bathroom that was in the living room. He knocked and knocked so I told him through the door that I would be right out. I turned on the faucet to make it sound like peeing…”

 “I’m sorry but you were letting him know that you would come out to him? This is extremely difficult to believe.” He scoffed.

 My anger rose up in me, “You know what’s hard to believe? A man being charged with battery for climbing into bed with a 13 and 9 year old and touching one of them sexually. Him getting less then a month in jail for ruining my life. For destroying my family. I can’t close my eyes without remembering how I felt in that bathroom. I close my eyes and I go back to when I realized that I had his saliva all over my butt and inside my buttcrack. I go back to me sitting on the toilet scrubbing myself raw so that I was sure he wasn’t on me and I relive the moment that I realized that he was still out there with my baby cousin and that he has probably already done this to her more then once. I go back to making the decision to take her place that night. I shut my eyes and I remember the feeling I had when I realized that I might loose my virginity to a 50 year old without my consent. That I had to open the door and distract him from my cousin and I had to do it now. And the numbness my body gave me so that I could survive. I relive the relief I had when I opened the door and I found him passed out on the chair and I ran to my cousins room. And I relive my heart breaking laying next to her and deciding instead of not saying anything about it I would tell. I relive every moment. This is what I call unbelievable.” 

There was just silence. The lawyer was just doing his job. I knew that, but I had to do mine. 

Everything ended, he took a deal and spent 3 weeks in jail. He got to go home to his sister and 2 nieces. Maybe if I actually was able to say this in court then he would have never had the privilege to go home. To be surrounded by exactly what he wanted. 

“I failed…”

That’s when I woke up. My heart was racing. It was a crazy dream. Reliving something and imagining something else that I wanted to do so badly. I never had my chance to say what needed to be said. 


I’ll Get There…

Have you ever thought about what life would be like if we didn’t hate ourselves? I know for a fact that everyone does. We are all the same in that way but different in the ways we show it. Imagine loving yourself humbly. Do you think we would start loving the people around us too? Or is it selfish to daydream of a moment that I didn’t feel disgust when I looked in the mirror? Does loving yourself have to be selfish? Why can’t we like ourselves in the state that we are in right now? I am always trying to fix what’s wrong. I’m too fat here, I need a filter, or my boobs aren’t even. How do I become perfect?”

I don’t think I have done anything “perfectly” in my lifetime. I don’t even know what perfect is. When will I know when I reached “perfect” when I have never seen it? If I link my happiness to perfection, I will never become happy. No matter how many times I say, “Just one more sit up.” or “This foundation will make me look flawless.” There will always be something “wrong” or something to “fix.” I am not sure how to start accepting my self as I am or how to be okay with how my body changes. I know that I’ll have to take it one day at a time. “I’ll get there, Don’t worry.”

Christianity · Chronic illness · poetry

I’m Just Fine (My First Rap)

People ask me “Why you don’t talk” all the time.

Well here’s your damn answer,

My body’s decaying, it’s breaking.

But no one gives two craps unless it’s cancer.

All I do stare up at ceilings

Trying to ignore the fact that my skin keeps peeling. Off

Damn Doctors, they insult me 

It’s all in my brain, they say.

Thanks Doc,

Slam the car door, mom asks those three words,

“How are you?”

My mouth is under padlock.

She just wants to hear that 

I’m still as strong not easy to knock.

Even if every words a lie.


I’m, just, fine.

I’ll be okay, I’m living a normal life.

It’s sad from time to time, but God is kind.

Don’t you worry about me, I’ll bloom on time,

I may have thorns in my sides, but I was made just right.

I have my eyes on the prize, it will just take some patience and Christ.

I’m, just, fine.


There’s not light, I look at the time. I have a realization,

The medication can’t stop the PTSD or depression, my silence is a confession, open your eyes and make a correction on how you see me before I make a stupid decision that will make you learn your lesson. 

See me. I’m weaker than you think, don’t blink, you might miss it. Terrified of the what if’s the worlds darkest screw it’s.

You tell me I can’t live this way, I’m lazy and I never move from where I lay. 

No really? you think I wanted this? What about all the things I miss? Really?

This is my body, not me. If pain wasn’t in the damn way I would runaway, stand in line just because this mother could, I would dance all night pretending this white girl was from the hood. Only if I could. 

You ask me with that fake voice, “Girl, How are you!?” 

And so the conversation goes…


I’m, just, fine.

I’ll be okay, I’m living a normal life.
It’s sad from time to time, but God is kind.
Don’t you worry about me, I’ll bloom on time,
I may have thorns in my sides, but I was made just right.
I have my eyes on the prize, it will just take some patience and Christ.
I’m, just, fine.
What should I say? You all ready know that the pain is chronic, that I have PTSD and I can’t love myself, that I dig so far into my body that bleed, it’s ironic.

Can’t be my own lover so I make myself uglier.

You know that. But say it out loud, you run faster then a freaking street rat. 

So I’m fine. Cuz it’s crime to check box other.

Mother always says to treat others how you want to be treated so I show compassion.

Even after you ask me that question in poor fashion. Because no should be alone.

Even if love was never shown. In the first place.

So I get another text, the same stupid question.

As if I could describe with the words in my possession. So I hold up a mirror and have them ask themselves. Thats all people have wanted since I was twelve.



I’m, just, fine.

I’ll be okay, I’m living a normal life.
It’s sad from time to time, but God is kind.
Don’t you worry about me, I’ll bloom on time,
I may have thorns in my sides, but I was made just right.
I have my eyes on the prize, it will just take some patience and Christ.
I’m, just, fine.
If the pain would go, my heart could show, and all this loneliness would be just a memory. But just because that’s what it should be doesn’t mean it could be.


Let Him Go, Love God

tumblr_nvg0okceop1un115xo1_500Since I had the ability to remember, I knew I wanted a boyfriend. I knew that I wanted to do life with someone that I was in love with, and someone that was in love with me. As I grew up, it became an obsession. I could blame it on my Dad for not being a great dad and I could blame it on my sexual assault, but those things just made the problem worse.

Once I hit puberty, my search for love and affection went into overdrive. It constantly caused me to be depressed. I would search for something instant, knowing that it wouldn’t work, then I would be rejected. I didn’t handle the rejection well. I would go down this spiral of despair and tell myself that I wasn’t worth loving. Then my first long term boyfriend came along. It was thrilling but shortly after I knew that we were using each other for validation. To prove to ourselves that we could be loved and that we could love someone else. We used each other to feel better about ourselves because our lives sucked. You can imagine how that relationship unfolded.

For me, It was him.
You don’t actually have to imagine because I’m going to tell you. He was never good enough and there was always some standard that I wanted him to live up to. Most of the standards were reasonable, for an adult male that was mature. He was younger then me and I was expecting him to be the man that he was still learning how to be. Once sex was introduced, we were doomed to fail. We never had sex but we did other sexual things to each other. We wanted to make each other happy because we knew deep down that that was the only way we could keep each other happy. Once you get a taste of something, you want more of it and then you have to go further. For two teenagers wildly enduring hormones, it was hard for us to stop. I remember one time when he went too far and I told him to stop twice. Since I had PTSD from my molestation, I had a panic attack when he wouldn’t get off of me and screamed. He jumped off of me and he was terrified. I didn’t know what to say. I also remember the day my mom walked in on us. We both agreed that we would stop fooling around. That lasted maybe a month, then I started it back up again. I had shame and guilt even before we were caught. I started it back up because I was afraid of loosing him.


We looked great on the outside. Everyone thought that we were cute, some tried to break us up. On the inside, however; our relationship was us hurting each other, saying sorry, and then doing something else that hurt the other person. I have abused him, he has abused me. Emotionally, Physically. I have slapped him and he has forced himself on top of me. We were good at faking our communication. He was great at not paying for anything, and I was great at nagging. We should have never been together but at the same time if I never dated him, I wouldn’t know what not to do now. I’m not saying that we didn’t have our good times but they are hard to remember over the explosion of a break up that we had.


Nearing the start of my senior year, I started truly having faith in God. As that started happening, I was also starting to feel convicted of the choices I made and the relationship I chose to be in. I knew that I needed to break things off with him but I felt like I needed him. I was terrified of being alone and after all he was my best friend. So I waited to see if he would find God with me, and he didn’t. I was being pulled in by desire and lust. I needed to break up with him and I knew that if I did it in person, he would have changed my mind. So I called him, I told him that I couldn’t do this anymore. That the relationship wasn’t good for either of us. That God wanted me to move on and heal things that were there even before he came along. I couldn’t rely on him to make me feel whole anymore. He cried, I cried. We parted ways. Then I started freaking out at the realization that I had no one. So I text him and ask him to take me back. Not because I loved him, because I need him as my crutch. He then begins to tell me that I was a horrible girlfriend. He continued to tell me nasty things that he thought and his friends thought about me. I hear that, given the opportunity, he will tell others about how terrible I am and also about the things that we had done sexually together. Sometimes exaggerated.


I have grown to ignore what others tell me about what he says. I know I am not whatever person I was in 2014. I will continue to grow and look to my future. I now can be alone with out the despair and the thirst that comes with single life. I don’t have to date the first, second, or third person who asks me out. I am sustained in my faith of the Lord instead of failing to fill myself with the love of a man. There is nothing that he or anyone else can do to change that. I am proud that I am being prepared for my next relationship. Even if my ex keeps intruding into my families life and my life, I know that I don’t have to let that destroy me. My past doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. I have a long journey ahead but I have a choice whether or not I will let my past will effect it or not.

This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!

~2 Corinthians 5:17~

P.S.~ I want to thank my ex, if he is reading this, for helping one of my relatives move. We aren’t talking for a reason and you still helped out my family. Thank you for stepping up like that and putting whatever feelings you have for me aside to help out. I was not able to help due to my many illnesses, so thank you.



The Rock Bottom

It’s just a school night. I don’t like telling the truth. So my tongue only pleasures lies. My dad chugs medication as if it was water, a 50 year old man slashed my 13 year old innocence as I tried to sleep, and there’s a rope slithering in my hands that I’m planning to knot around my throat. Lie to them, don’t let them see that you’re  worthless. I caress the rope, embracing the rough texture. Examining its tight twists and loose ends. Dad’s in the other room. Too high to notice the dark bloodshot eyes and conversations I’m carrying with myself. Do it, make it easier for your mother. Only thing I remember next is my lungs reaching for air. I never cared so little for what my body wants. Despair and emptiness fills the room. The rope unknots. I let gravity do what it pleases with my body and my lungs give me their say. Screaming, I wipe my makeup over my cheekbones and take in the ceiling. Pure silence and nothing breaks it but my sobbing.

There I slept. Rope still knotted to my neck.




I don’t feel joy when my fear controls me. I also am conscience and aware when I am afraid and of what I am afraid of. I am also aware that there is a difference between fear and anxiety. Right now I am anxious. So much so that I’m shivering and my stomach is clenching. It’s because I finally told the truth to my best friend about how I truly feel about her boyfriend (lets call him B). See I have known her and B since high school. Which means we have history. Their story mostly consists of falling in love, being insecure, and the drama that separates them. With B and I, well, that’s much more complex. I was the subject that separated them. I was the drama, according to him. Of course I’m not perfect, I probably was acting like a typical teen. But what my family and I remember, was beyond teenage naivety.

It was Junior year and it’s lunch time. We are all crowded around this little corner of a table talking and eating. Then the jokes start, “What’s the difference between a pizza and a Jew? Pizzas don’t scream in the oven.” The jokes ranged from racist to murderous. I couldn’t hear anymore so I asked B and his friend to stop. Why? I am Jewish by blood and was raised in my roots. History is a huge part of why we take pride in our bloodlines. That and it’s just wrong. So after asking them to stop, they were so confused on why it was such a big deal. Yet, we still moved on but grudges were held.

One day in physics, B and I are messaging on our school IPads like amazing students. I know that my Bestie is feeling insecure in her relationship with him and is scared he is going to dump her. So I, stupidly, ask him if something was going on. He tells me all these important things and then tells me that he’s not going to tell my best friend. Then swears me to secrecy. I think about it for the rest of my day and decided to show her our messages anyway. She reads them and went straight to him to talk about it. Cats out of the bag! So after that B was livid with me. That’s where things got bad.

B was a very vengeful person. If you hurt him, he would get at you 10x harder. So he used his German heritage to bully me into being afraid of him. The jokes continued and got much ruder. Then he threatened me over the phone, which ended with his parents telling my mom that I was being over dramatic and they were sick of me. He would do the hail Hilter salute and march around when he would see me and one day he wore a Nazi uniform and did it. I don’t remember how I reacted to these things, but I do remember how it ended. B made my friend choose, be a girlfriend to him or be a friend to me. She refused to give him an answer so he made it for her. That’s how me and her are still friends today.

Speaking of today, she started dating him again and it has been a month or two. Why is she back with the guy that bullied her best friend you ask? Because she wants to be is the truthful answer. After he kissed her she came to me and asked me if I was okay with them dating. I didn’t think that I really had a say in who she wanted to date. But, I told her my opinion of him and she didn’t take it well. With anger in her voice she says that he was different and that I should give him a second chance. I realize that she didn’t just want my approval she wanted me to be friends with him again. So I gave the second chance for my best friend, as long as he apologizes. I see him for the first time since graduating and I turn back into that terrified 17 year old girl. Not only that, I also take “We both did things in high school. It’s over now and in the past.” as an apology and let my best friend leave me alone with him and his friend during the whole time.

So time goes on and I start spending time with her and the boys. Which proves to be a mistake. I try to explain to them that I am disabled and in response was told that I am not disabled I am just a hypochondriac. Which brought up old wounds for me and even after trying to explain, I still ended up in my bed balling my eyes out. I was back in high school where the two boys said what they wanted, how they wanted and they were the ones that were in the right. They aren’t open to other ideals or beliefs. And now her boyfriend and his friend believe that if Hitler wasn’t stopped, it would have been great for technology. He believes that if he died and someone took his place, it would have been better. The dying would have stopped and technology would be great. He would have been okay waiting 20 more years for that to happen. 20 years of Hitler. and it’s a big If on the probability of that actually happening. People who condone genocide terrify me.

None of these things are hidden from my best friend and she has argued with him about these things. She has even tried to stop the fighting between us when I brought up white privilege and it didn’t go over well with one of the heterosexual white males. But it hasn’t stopped me from crying multiple times, the drama from the past/present, and the stress I have with this constant struggle. In the end, I have conceded because “He really didn’t mean it like that.” This is all just from this four person group and I have so many other things in my life.

So today, after a month or two of trying to “concede,” I still don’t like being around them. I am still being jabbed by them every time they speak to me. Today I told my best friend that I gave her boyfriend and his friend a chance and I don’t like them. Today she said I ruined everything. But today I realized that I was honest with her and my friend still chose him and she still would have chose him. Not only did she choose him, but she threw me under a bus so that she could have everything that she wanted instead of taking my honesty at its value and respecting it. And I let her do it to me, up until today.


Created To Contradict

625ef772ce6caae579f36a8e8094fe8dThere is no such thing as standing still. I am constantly turning, involuntarily twitching, and painfully shaking. Even when those cease, being Still is ruined by my need for breathing. Still is the enemy. My entire being was created to contradict it. depression, anxiety, and pain to last my life. And all through out my life I was told to be still. They thought it would give me peace, yet all it did was drive me into my mind. Into the chaos of to much love, to much depth, to much lies, and too much pain. Nothing will ever truly be still, they should have said calm. There can be a calm on my body or in the ocean. It can give the possibility of some peace. At least a peace of mind. I wish that it was the term to describe the way I speak. But people usually use the word aggressive or assertive. I am described and categorized as blunt. Something that hits you and knocks the wind out of your lungs. Unpleasant. How can I be calm, how can I be still? I get lonely being the way I am or being who I am. People don’t see past my protection because its made out of disaster. I’m starting to get tired. I’m not sure tired equals calm but I’ll take the calm over the chaos. I just can’t take the loneliness.

Chronic illness


I am reliant. I depend on others, objects, ideas. All of these things intertwine and make up a net that catches comfort and control, continuously feeding my habits. I  get a shaking feeling in my diaphragm and my ribs. Every time life gives the chance for a new love, a new chance. There is no control in love and it terrifies me. New beginnings though, I crave a new start. Change is not my enemy, betrayal is, lies are, the parts of life that are unknown are. I rely on truth, at least what I believe to be true. I rely on my family, blood or not. I do this by choice, or was raised to do so. Which ever sociology or psychology decides to be true. What I do know about psychology is that I can rely on things that no one would ever ask for. Depression, anxiety, PTSD. The internet jokes on how crippling the all are. Can the truth be funny? Or do they confide in humor like I do with film and fiction. It’s that or sink into my brain, all it does is think and spiral. I can always rely on my emotions to cripple me. But I can entrust my bed to keep me. In those times, I pray to God. I ask for the mind to understand what I need to so that I can have faith. I struggle with faith, not with faith in knowing that He is real but faith in knowing that he is there for me. I rely and idolize the secular beauty of speech. Music, poetry, deep conversation. I rely on it temporary emptiness instead of waiting for the rich things God says he provides. I depend on what is immediate and short tempered. All because I can’t afford to break. I’m terrible at puzzles. If I break I’ll have nothing to fall back on. And I’m terrified that I’ll end my life or spend the rest of my life in pieces. I don’t know which one is worse. So I stay where I’m comfortable not where I could thrive because I am porcelain. My reliance will shatter me, and when it does I then will rely on the right things.