I’ve always had a hunger to write. Since childhood I would wrap myself in my imagination and let my stories take flight from my pens.

Starting my first blog was frightening for me. It was baring of my everything. It was saying “HERE I’M NAKED AND VULNERABLE, IT’S A GOOD TIME TO THROW ROCKS AT ME!” 

After blogging for seven years you’d think I’d be past that.

I’m not.

Every time I publish something I expect to feel the pain of a rock being thrown.

Since the days of my strokes and I first faced down the monster that confronted me from my keyboard, I have found a new reason to my writing.

Yes, I’ve had to find new ways to still allow my soul loose from the prison of the handicaps placed on my body.

Even more than that, the words I can type come so clearly and unmistakably. I find texts to be a wonderful way to maintain my lifelines. Emails allow me to have conversations with people with people I might never talk to in the real world.

My lips have betrayed my by refusing to keep with the thoughts in my head. The voice I was left turned on me by granting me insufficient air to give breath to the understanding in my head.

My words are trapped in my head with no way to clearly share them.

So I write them. THAT is my greatest reason for writing with the one arm that work. I really had no choice.

AGAIN.

Yes, again.

Eye surgery #1 was to repair the double vision and move my actual eyeball so the pupil was centered. The surgery was successful BUT it damaged a muscle and caused my eyelid to droop. Like ridiculously.

Eye surgery #2 was to try to repair the droopy eyelid. There was some improvement but now the droop has returned and has gotten so severe it impares the vision fixed in surgery #1.

So. on Friday I’ll have eye surgery #3. To be very aggressive in the droop issue. If this doesn’t work? I’m going to staple my eyelid open and use paper clips to prop my eye open.

I expect to be written up the Ophthalmology Journal.

For a second I wished that Google would develop GSlap because I needed at that moment

1.I really hate being the shit-stick by which others measure the bad things in their lives. Like “I just woke up in a bathtub full of ice missing a kidney, but at least I’m not Anissa.” or “My car just went off a cliff and rolled100 feet to the bottom of a mountain where it exploded taking out a bunch of bunnies and orphans but things would really blow if I were Anissa.”It really sucks to be that person.

2. Just because some really challenging things happen to me doesn’t mean I’m not capable of caring about what’s happening in your world. If anything, what I’ve been through has made me a more empathetic and caring person. Give me the chance to be a friend. Let me one for you. You’re never weighing me down and if you were I’d be the first to tell you that I just can’t be there for you the way I want. 99,999 times out of 1000.000 though I’d be honored to help carry your load.

Unless your load is spiders. Then you’re on your own.

3. Don’t compare our burdens. Don’t ever act like yours is less because you THINK mine is more. Yes, I’ve had a lot of bad. I’ve also been blessed with an amazing amount of good. It has been worth it.

You know how NOT to be a good friend to me? Fail to give me the opportunity to be a friend to you.

I can feel my fingers move. So distinctly that I’ll look, convinced that this time there will be movement. There never is any.

I wake in the middle of night with excruciating pain but i’m not sure where.

When I broke my wrist I felt the break and pain and instead of calling for help right away I went back to bed.

I can close my eyes and remember what it feels like to curl my toes. If I close my eyes and put both hands together I can feel them both moving but know only one is really doing anything.

There are times I’m sure I could just get up and walk. Walk away from all the frustration in this body.

I see the life I’m not giving my kids. The parent I can’t always be. Mom in name only. The suffering of many from the pain one.

My body has the lingering memory of sensuality, incredible strength, dancing frenzy of sweat.

Feelings gone with the nerves.

Phantom pains go far beyond the physical.