I Am

I am Broken and Afraid
I wonder if I can make it through another day
I hear my illness mocking
I see things in a different light
I want to live a normal life
I am Broken and Afraid

I pretend that everything is okay
I feel like I am held together by tape
I touch the jagged edges of myself, wincing at the pain
I worry that I will never be well
I cry almost daily from the pain
I am Broken and Afraid

I understand that I cannot give up
I say God will get help me through
I dream of being well; while being destroyed from the inside
I try to live a normal life
I hope I will have that one day but for now
I am just Broken and Afraid

A life is a life no matter how small

I have heard a lot of people lately saying how abortion is a woman's choice.
And I agree. It is a choice. But not one I would make in a million years.

It is said that before the "fetus" is 12 weeks, it is not a real person.
because we cannot PROVE that a soul exists
because, if we admit that the child (No. Not fetus. Child) has a soul, then it would be wrong to kill them.

Look at this photo please.

 

Do you see this child? This is a fetus at 11 weeks. Legal to abort. 

Do you see that face? The delicate little nose. 

Do you see those eyes? Ones that would love to have the chance see the world they are being denied.

Yes, you can say you would be a horrid mother. Or that they will have an illness that will make their lives not worth while. Let me tell you--As someone who lives with a chronic illness.

As someone who suffers daily

Even if there is one happy moment it makes everything else worth it.

Who knows who that child would have become? What wonderful things they could have done with their lives. The impressions upon others lives. 

This is a fetus at 12 weeks. She will respond to touch. She gurgles with her mouth when she is happy. The brain is forming, ready to meet her world. 

Look at those beautiful little hands. How could anyone deny her the joy of feeling with those little hands?

I say that if you have sex and a child is conceived, then that child is yours to bring into this world.

Yeah, it is a woman's choice. 

If I chose to kill myself, that would be my choice. My womanly choice. But that is wrong because I am recognized as a person. 

If I chose to kill someone, that would be my choice. My choice as a Woman. But I would be put in jail for taking a human's life. 

Just because the worlds "Fetus" "It" and "abort" are used, it does not make it any less horrific. 

Some people might read this and get angry with me. Maybe saying "what about if a woman is raped?" 

Yes. Rape is horrible. It is a horrific, horrid thing that I wish would leave this world forever. 

I know this is a really hard subject. 

And if anyone reading this has been raped, I am so, so sorry. 

But just because you have been wronged, it does not mean you should end the life of the child inside you.

Yes, the child was made through horrible circumstances. But maybe that child of yours is the one who will help you get over the anger and shame of what happened.

My right leg might be immune to bruises

An actual argument occurred between my sister and I. For some reason, she does not think it is possible for someone to have a body part that is immune to bruises. I will have to do some more research on this to prove my point. (And by research I mean punch myself in the right leg again and watch as no bruise appears)

 Me: I am immune to bruises.

Jenna: I wont even dignify that with an argumentative response.
 [that might be a slight difference from what she actually said, but in my mind she is always all smart and sophisticated, so that is how I am writing her.]

Me: Seriously Jenna, I dont have a bruise on this leg. My left leg is covered in bruises that I dont have any idea how they get there, so I wanted to see how easily I bruised and punched myself in the right leg. AND THERE IS NO BRUISE! Its like, my right leg has an epic immunity to bruises. Its my superpower.
 [I had actually said this a lot less clearly. Maybe if I had said it exactly like this, she would have realized how right I am]

Jenna: There is no way that that is a superpower. And you probably just did not hit yourself hard enough.[Again, added sophisticated-ness. I am also pretty sure this was an offer to punch me. I almost accepted]

Me: I hit myself plenty hard. My right leg has the most scars, and my left the most bruises. I am like, the least symmetrical person on the planet. And yes, I know that is not a superpower, I am not insane.

Jenna: *coughs* sure.....


Also, if you have never woken up to your adorable rabbit licking your nose, you have not lived. Charlie licked my face until I woke up this morning and then she cuddled with me for about an hour. Bunnies. Are. Awesome.
If you dont like rabbits, you should meet mine. I didnt like rabbits until I met Charlilly!
[Except all white ones. Those scare the life out of me. Seriously. Im pretty sure they eat flesh. Just saying.]

I dont even know what to title this

       At the moment, I am sitting in a chair annoyed because I have a freakish amount of pent up energy that I cant do anything about. (I would start bouncing up and down in my chair, but then I will get a bigger headache and/or panic attack.)My legs have been really weak lately, and four days ago began to be unable to support my weight. (Though in my legs's* defense, 175lbs is probably not easy to keep upright when they are filled with Lyme bacteria. Or at all.)**

*Seriously, is there a possessive plural for the word leg?? Because if its not "legs's" I dont know what it is.
**this paragraph has nothing to do with this whole thing except for the leg part which is important

   It hit me yesterday that I will never know what it is like to have a normal childhood. I mean, I will be 18 in May and I barely ever leave the house.
Not cause I don't want to (which sometimes is the case because I am slightly terrified of people) but because I honestly have a hard time getting out of bed. Even writing about this, I am having a hard time not wallowing in self pity.

[Please note, I try very hard to not wallow in pity. Not only is it selfish, but wallowing is a fairly gross and muddy thing to do. Unless you are a pig in mud, then I am sure its fabulous]

        

But the more I pretend to people I am alright, the harder it is to stay happy. I spend so much energy smiling and being chipper and trying to make it look like I am okay, that I end up sobbing and sleeping for hours.

  I get so frustrated with people for thinking I am not really sick, or that I am exaggerating. A guy at church (we will call him Sted [I couldn't decide between Steve or Fred] ) always asks me how I am. 

Sted: Good morning Rowan. Are you feeling better then you were last week?

Me: Nope! How are you?

[This is my customary response. I say nope, with a smile and then finish with "But I'm still standing" -which is funny cause right now I can't actually stand-]

Sted: Nooooopeee 

When he says "nooope" he laughes, pinches my cheeks and then pats my shoulder like it is some inside joke between us. 

I was really really bothered by this; but then I realized something.

 If I keep pretending to everyone like I am okay, never letting anyone see past my shield, Its not their fault that they don't think I am being serious. I can't get mad at people for seeing a healthy looking girl who is always smiling and saying she is fine and shrugging things off and assuming she is indeed fine.

In a way, I have been lying to myself. By pretending to everyone that I am okay, I delude myself into a horrid line of thinking.

 That Maybe if I pretend that I am okay, it will all just disappear and I will be healthy again.  

And that is probably why I have been getting so many panic attacks and mental breakdowns.

 A person is not meant to hide who they are from everyone around them. {Unless you are a spy.)

 Yeah, by letting on about how bad off I am I might lose a few friends. But that is okay becase honestly? I don't know that I would want to deal with me if I was in their place. But in the long run, I would lose more friends by pretending I am okay, and resent them for believing me.

  It was a broken kind of logic anyway. One that came back to bite me in the butt. I have lost the ability to walk much and I have to literally drag myself up stairs.  I have spent all these years acting like I am fine, and now I can't hide it anymore.(It is tragically ironic though that I can't walk or stand because I have been saying "Hey, Im standing" instead of saying I'm fine.)

    As I write this, I realized something. Part of the reason I am cried myself to sleep about being unable to walk [granted a small part, but a part none the less] was because I am vain.

 I was too vain to want people to see how ill I am. 

Honestly, this not walking thing is one of the lesser problems that I have. 

But it is one of the only visible ones. 

People can't see my inner panic attacks, or my depression.

They can't see any of the long list of things that hurt all over my body. 

They don't know that when I mess up a sentence, its because I can't figure out what word I meant.

Or that I am quiet because I honest to goodness can not manage to form a legitimate sentence.

But having to use crutches and wince in pain while going up stairs and having my legs buckle under me? That is terrifyingly noticeable. 

Having to ask people for help scares me. And that needs to change.