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From me to them: #1

BeFunky Design

This is the internet. People will see this, people that I don’t know and people that don’t care. That’s okay though, writing is how I release things, much like many other millennials.

It’s 12:11am. I’m someone who doesn’t sleep much. I’ve been away from home for roughly two weeks now and almost every one of the nights I’ve been awake until somewhere between 2 and 4am. Like I’ve previously said countless times, and will continue to, I have severe anxiety. It’s been controlling my actions for these two weeks (more than usual). I can’t sleep. When I do, my dreams are terrible. I’m not much a dreamer really, but when I am it’s horrible. The feeling my dreams give is like…drowning in clouds. Can you imagine that?

Enveloped in oxygen

I cope with pyrophobia (the fear of fire and excessive heat) as well. The worst of my dreams usually depict  me being trapped in a burning house. About 4 years ago around the age of 13 I began to cry in my sleep regularly, say, 4 times a week. I wake up having heavy, uneven, burning breathing pattern that crying causes, and of course tears. Dreams cause it, other times not. It’s just part of the anxiety. It stinks warning everyone if I stay there after a long Friday…“Don’t be alarmed dude. I cry in my sleep.” Or what’s the worst is, well let me just explain first. Most of the time, I spend weekends with a core group of friends out of town. It’s a diverse group, and most times a good twelve of us end up under a roof, all from different schools (yeah, her momma’s got a big ass house, lot’s of cabinet space, lots of cereal). So the worst is when I doze off, begin to slumber-sob, and someone, say from a different school, that I ended up with due to our common friend, urges me up frantically with that “what-the-hell-are-you-okay-or-just-weird?” look in their eye and I wake up and realize immediately what’s happening and casually pull that “Dude don’t be alarmed. I cry in my sleep.” card. So…yep. Crying in sleep = chick magnet.


Image above created by Me.

Roll on, Young One.

To those that have taken the time to snoop my “About Me” section on this blog, you may (or may not have) noticed the mentioning of my chair. If you haven’t, well, now you know. And to those who know me, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about here.

I received some VERY EXCITING news today. My 17th birthday is in 11 days, June 12th. And today I found out my new chair will be delivered!! I’ve been waiting for about 9 months..and trust me, the newbie is long overdue.

The reason I need my chair is something very few people know. There’s only about 5 friends that I’ve thoroughly explained it to, and even they will never fully understand. Honestly, not even doctors fully understand. It’s not that I don’t trust my friends with the information, it’s simply that I will never let my disease be a label. The disease I have is extremely common but I have a very mild case of it. Think of it as I “barely have it”. 7 years ago, I had spine surgery that left me in a wheelchair. Before the operation, I could technically walk, but not comfortably, safely, or for long distances without falling. After the surgery, I remained bed-bound in the hospital for about a week until I returned home and was couch-bound for a couple months. I was put in physical therapy 4 days a week, 2 hours each session. The expected outcome of the surgery I had was to walk on my own. Obviously that didn’t work out. There were benefits, though. Benefits that I won’t mention. Just know there were some. The therapy was INTENSE. I was 10 years old and didn’t fully understand what was happening to my body. I fell into a horrible state of depression and my body shut down. After about 6 months of therapy, my therapists and parents realized the situation was harming me more than it was helping.

Along came Esther. (:

Esther is my chair. Yes I named it. People name their cars all the time. Same thing right?

A common misconception people have when we meet is that I cannot walk at all or that I’m paralyzed.


I’m on my feet a little every day. I take the stairs every once in a while if I have someone with me just in case God forbid I fell or something. I have full feeling in all parts of my body (yes even my legs).

I would honestly call Esther my best friend. No one will ever understand my emotional attachment to my chair. Esther is my way of life. She’s a ladder, a footstool. I have anxiety when my chair’s in another room. When someone sits in it without asking I want to flatten their car tires. Nothing comes between Esther and myself. So when I heard today that my new one was coming in, my first thought was, I wonder how I’ll respond emotionally? I’m expecting to cry. It’ll be tears of joy. Again, something y’all wouldn’t understand. Despite how happy I’ll be, it will be strange/hard letting Esther go. It’s the only chair I’ve ever had, yeah she’s falling apart and my body has outgrown her,’s just the emotional attachment.

Esther’s been through so much in the passed 7 years. I’m so thankful. Hopefully this new one will help me make countless more memories.

This is Esther and myself…
(She’s also a decent shoulder to lean on)



As I mentioned before, being thrusted into so many drastic changes in regards to my body and lifestyle sent me into a depressional state that lasted for years that followed and still affects me today. I just want to say though, if you are someone living with things that aren’t the societal norm, it’s okay! Although it may be hard, and people are inconsiderate, you are human. And humanity is a beautiful thing…it’s all about the complex simplicity of individuality. There is little in life anyone deserves to be ashamed of; especially any way that they carry themselves, whether that be by your choice or nature’s choice. We all follow the man-made roads that connect us all, but few are brave enough to stray and be different. When given the option, take the alley everyone else is too scared of.


Photo provided by Me.


DISCLAIMER: Hiya guys… So this post is a little different. If you’ve perused my whole blog, read a certain post pertaining to this topic, or are close to me in the real world, you have a brief idea of how anxious of a person I am or you kind of know how genuinely scary my anxiety attacks can’ll kind of understand this. I typed this post out last night in the midst of a severe panic episode. I’ve read through it, and I’ve decided to keep it because its’s authentic and the internet is a place where not a lot is taboo. I realize some of what’s written below doesn’t make sense…sorry. And to whom it may be concerning (probably no one), I didn’t black out. I was entirely safe and there were several people capable of helping me nearby. Things discussed below are my norm. I’ve almost never attempted to put it into words though, and honestly the memory is so milky I don’t remember my logic of doing it, so this is a first.
~Comment if you know what the title of this post symbolizes.

Sometimes my hands shake. And my heart feels like a guilty child. Sometimes I can’t think straight. In this moment I’m having an anxiety attack. I feel like this could be a black-out. Sometimes I panic so severely, that my mind literally takes my physical self places I don’t remember. If I were to let myself go right now, I’d probably wake up in a couple hours and not remember what happened. No worries though, this is normal.

I don’t know why this is happening right now. Nothing bad happened; today was pretty relaxed

Actually I think it was a song
I can listen to a song and a two-word phrase can dust off memories that I don’t want to see, or feel.
What memory this time, though? I don’t know.
I don’t think there is one..I just feel
I know I have a severe panic disorder and I know I have Anankastic Personality Disorder
It literally feels like one of the halves of me is just fighting to leave. I have a grip on my own hand..but she’s tugging and begging for me to just let go, the other half will slip in place…I’ll black out, and life will be different tomorrow.

It’s episodes like these where 75% of my poems are written.

Do bruises make me a victim or a hero?
A free spirit or a sinner?
Black, blue, or emotional stains
They’re all the same.

5 things I can see
4 I can hear
3 I can feel
2 I can smell
1 I can taste

The hair dye on my hands, the tipped over kitchen chair, there’s 2 pillows at the left end of the couch and 1 at the right (the one on the right is identical to one of the 2 on the left), the key hanger is crooked, the window is divided into 25 small squares

Congratulations by Post Malone, whoever’s in the bedroom on my right is listening to This Could be Us by Rae Sremmurd, the air conditioner, she just laughed

My fingertips feel like they have little heartbeats, when the fan swivels this way my hair brushes my eyebrow, my feet are cold

It just smells like..this house. The girl I was with earlier had this weird lotion kit that she found online, she made a lotion that smelled like oranges and birthday cake; I guess I can smell that if I really focus

Blueberries, I ate those for dinner.


BeFunky Collage.png

Above is a collage of someone I call Bubby. His actual name is Andrew. Our family tree will tell you we are cousins, but ask him or myself and we’ll introduce each other as our brother/sister. Really, we both have friends that find out we’re cousins and are completely surprised. We’re nine months apart (I’m older) and currently we are both 16.

Andrew and I have been inseparable since toddlerhood. We have so many similarities that keep us close. For example, we both have been abandoned by our biological moms. That sounds very harsh, but it’s true. He’s lived with our grandparents forever, and I reside at my dad’s and spend entire summers with him, with the grandparents. I don’t know where my mom is, literally. His is in Texas.

Andrew is completely deaf. Which creates family jokes; our grandma often says she feels she actually has 2 deaf grandkids, because outside of school you should feel blessed if there’s not earbuds in my ears. He doesn’t speak, hence why I’m fluent in American Sign Language (ASL). ASL is a huge part of my life. It’s beautiful and my knowledge of it is something I am very proud of.

I move here every summer, I say “here” because I’m sitting on Andrew’s floor writing this. (: Summers are usually amazing and adventurous thanks to his goofy butt. The family knows the world better watch out when we’re together, because there’s no stopping us as a pair. We both are dangerously spontaneous and let’s just say it’s made memories. Like, take a look at the collage again. The photo on the middle-right. Me, yellow tank top, nutella eyebrows. Well that makeup job is what happens when Macee and Andrew are up and revving on chocolate drumsticks at midnight and he finds my makeup in my room. That’s not actually nutella, I think it was eyeliner…I think. And yes, for whatever reason he wrote “HEY” on my chest in tinted chapstick. Anyways.

This past week has been horrendous for us. We lost 2 family members. Our great-grandma passed, it was expected; she was very sick. We both took it kind of hard but we had each other. Just as the healing began from that, I lost a cousin from overdose. The cousin was on my bio-mom’s side, so it didn’t really affect Andrew, but he has still been there for me. Thanks Bubby. ❤

Anyways…This was just a little appreciation post. Usually everyone finds a best friend in life, but not everyone might be lucky enough to experience the love of having your best friend since birth. I’d like to say I’m fortunate though.

Summer is almost here and I have a feeling it’s gonna be a good one.

Photos above taken by Me.