Regret Nothing : 30 Days of Truth

Day 22 : Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.

I never regret anything. Because every little detail of your life is what made you into who you are in the end.
Drew Barrymore

As a woman with Bipolar Disorder, emotions are a quintessential part of my life.  So, naturally, it would be shocking for me to admit that regret is not an emotion that I often experience.  Difficult to believe?  I would certainly believe so, especially in a person where emotions are often extreme and feral!

I experience a certain lack of regret for a number of reasons.

I typically choose my words and actions wisely.  I have often said, “There are just some things in this life that you cannot take back.”  Once certain behaviors are out there in reality, there may be no amount of apology or reparations that can fix the damages.  However, this is not to say that I don’t make my fair share of mistakes.

I do not regret my mistakes.  Mistakes are learning experiences, not irreparable failures.  Thomas Edison once said, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”  That is exactly the nature of mistakes.  They are meant to teach us lessons.  It is up to us to derive an appropriate lesson from our mistakes.

There is another saying out there about regret.  “Never regret anything, because at one time, it was exactly what you wanted.”  That is precisely it.  Often, the choices that we make seem like the best choices for us at the time.  I am a stubborn kind of person, and even if there was some kind of time machine where I could go back and warn myself, I would certainly not have heeded my own warning.

I am a firm believer in fate, and I have faith that everything happens from significant purpose to later be determined in hindsight.  You know what they say, hindsight is 20 / 20.  And when we begin to work out the course of the events in our lives, we start to see how the tapestry comes together to weave the people we have become.

I am a stronger person person for having bipolar disorder.  I am a better mother for having a son on the spectrum.  I am a better wife, because I have a husband who loves me.  I am a more determined person for having dropped out of college.  Each struggle provides me with more character and more things to build myself up.

A wealth of evidence exists in my life to prove fate to me.  Xan and I met ten and a half years ago, through my high school sweetheart.  The two of them had become college roommates, and I had grown quite close to Xan.  And throughout the years, we remained close friends, despite any falling outs we may have had.  It was like we were drawn together by some unexplainable force.  I explained a great deal of that in a series of posts entitled, “Possibility and Ascention”, “Seeds of Affection”, and “Mo Anam Cara”. After all we had went through in the five years we weren’t romantically involved, we came together after all.  And as imperfect as my marriage is, it is the most perfect, unconditional love I have ever experienced.  I have certainly found my soulmate.

Every experience has a place in the tapestry of one’s life.  Experience is an essential part of who we are.  Our successes and mistakes come to shape us into the people that we are.  And without those experiences, we might not be the people that we will eventually come to cherish.

Often, I treat everyday as if it were my last day, or potentially the final day for someone I love.  After Xan’s car accident, my eyes were wide open to the fragility of life and the certain mortality we all face.  Each day must have some peaceful conclusion, lest someone passes in the night.  A lesson has to be derived from each event, and work toward the betterment of my myself and those around me.  And each day, I attempt to say or do at least one thing to better another person’s life.  Or at least their day.

I live life to live it.  I regret nothing.  Because in the end, it is my life.

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The Infamous Accident : 30 Days of Truth

Day 21 : (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?

It was the first day of June, and at hot, sunny one at that.  Heat makes me miserable.  Well, truthfully, it doesn’t take much to make me miserable.

Xan was late coming home from work as usual.  I was ravenous with hunger when he called on his way home from work.  My attitude was sour, because we were nearing the 7 o’clock hour.  It had been far too long since my last meal, and I was bitter that he had a blatant disregard for his family’s needs.  We bantered back and forth as to what we wanted to do for dinner.

Suddenly, the phone cut out.  This was a usual annoying occurrence during his daily commute home.  And I impatiently waited for him to call back, ranting to my mother about what an incredibly inconsiderate jerk he had been.  The wait continued, and I found that I was fed up with the situation.  I attempted to call him back, but the phone went straight to voicemail.

I was furious.  Just because I gave him a little attitude after a long day gives him the right to ignore me?  My anger continued to grow as I attempted him again and again without any luck.  Suddenly, a strange number came up on my phone.  I answered, expecting it to be a bill collector of some sort.

It was Xan.  He said, “Lulu, don’t panic.  I’ve been in a car accident.”

When someone tells me not to panic, naturally I go straight to it.  I am an alarmist, and I always expect the worst.  I frantically screamed, “Oh my god, are you okay?!”

“I don’t know,” he responded, sounding dazed and a little confused.  He continued after a brief pause, “I think you need to call an ambulance.  Could you call an ambulance?”  There was no urgency in his voice.  Only a flat tone.

I didn’t know what to do.  How could I call an ambulance for him when I didn’t even know where he was, or what was wrong, or really what happened in the first place?  Suddenly, the adrenaline started coursing through my veins.  My head cleared and I assured him, “Hold on, I’m coming.  Where are you?”  He gave me his location, and I prodded his broken mind for more information as to what happened for more details.

“I’ve got to go.  The paramedics are here,” he informed me.

Urgently, I told him, “I’m coming.  Tell the paramedics to wait, because I’m on the way.  Don’t let them take you without me.”

My father offered to take me.  My brain was buzzing like live wires during a ride that seemingly took forever.  Is he okay?  Is he going to die?  What happened to him?  What’s going to happen now?  Please God, please let him be okay.  I hate myself for all of the needless bickering.  Those could have been my last words to him.

I arrived on the scene and jumped out of the car.  I crossed two lanes of traffic and stared intensely at the accident scene.  AT first, all I could see was a circle of police cars, some policeman directing traffic, some paramedics, and the ambulance.  I started to panic again when I couldn’t see Xan.  As I continued approaching, I saw the other car.  The entire front end was completely smashed in.  My heart seized and my throat started to close.  I couldn’t know what to expect.  But, naturally, I feared the worst.  I feared Xan on a stretcher, profusely bleeding and broken.

The Jetta came into view as I frantically continued into the scene, and it was a sight that rocked me to my very core.  I gasped with what little air I could manage.  The whole driver’s side was entirely smashed in, looking as if it could have done lethal damage to the person in that car.  That person being Xan, my lover, my husband, my best friend.

I was still desperately searching for him.  Everyone took notice of me, and watched intently.  I called out his full name, “(Withheld)!!!”  And I ran, rounding the police cars to find him sitting on the traffic island.  I plunged to the ground, scraping both of my knees under my thin skirt, and I carefully embraced him.  I sat down beside him to inspect him.  I asked again, “Are you okay?!”

Once again, he replied in a very unsteady voice, “I don’t know.”

He bared a swollen knee and described his head and neck injury.  He didn’t even know it, but he had a piece of beaded glass embedded in his thick eyebrow.  That paramedic approached us and said to me, “He hasn’t decided if he’s going to the hospital.”

Xan started mumbling some things about transportation, but I sharply cut him off.  “Yes, he’s going.  He is going, and he’s going now in the ambulance.”

Once I determined it was okay to leave him for a moment, I went to assess the damage to our beloved vehicle.  It was absolutely heartbreaking.  My first car, the car that I worked so hard for, that I lived in abject poverty over, the car I never had a chance to drive, was completely demolished.  It had a car sized dent spanning the entire driver’s side.

I went inside, determined to find Xan’s glasses, which no one bothered to look for.  I collected the rest of our belongings, and that’s when I saw them.  They were jammed between the driver’s side door and the seat that now touched each other.  I dove across a glass covered seat in that thin skirt to retrieve them.

I accompanied him in the ambulance.  They preferred that I sit in the front as they loaded him on the stretcher and put him in the back.  I heard the conversation clear as a bell.  ”You are a very lucky guy,” said one of the paramedics.  The other said, “Yeah, that crash could have killed you.”

That’s when the seriousness of it hit me.  He was lucky.  Very lucky that day to be alive.  The car was impacted at least 35mph in the direct center of the driver’s side.  He was thrown to the side a bit, and came back with a nasty smack to his head, sending his glasses flying.  The driver’s side could have crushed him in.  He could have been killed.  He could have died that very day.  I would never have been able to take back all of the nastiness that happened.  I could have never made up for it.  I could have never seen him, held him, kissed him, or talked to him ever again.

I stood with him, holding his ice cold hand the entire time.  I ordered nurses and doctors around.  I made sure he was hydrated and escorted him to the bathroom.  He was irritated, but I didn’t care.  I was not about to leave his side.  I was going to care for him in whatever ways that I could.  I would stay with him, and comfort him, though he claimed he was fine.  I would joke with him and help him feel better.

That night, I stayed up as much as I could.  I woke him up every couple of hours with increasingly difficult questions.  It started with mother’s maiden name and our son’s middle name.  Eventually, we ended up with first address, grandmother’s maiden name, and his biological father’s date of birth.  I was determined to ensure he was alright.  I had people on call, waiting in the instance that he had to return to the hospital.

Luckily, he managed to escape a potentially deadly crash with a concussion, a bruised knee, a cut eyebrow, and a pair of slightly bent glasses.  Unfortunately, he did end up having post concussive syndrome.  For a long time after the crash, he wasn’t quite right.  In time, he got better.  But at the very least, he was alive and for the most part, unharmed.

Today, I still cringe and panic anytime the phone cuts out or he turns up late from work.  But, I’ve learned my lesson.  Grudges aren’t worth it.  Always reconcile as soon as possible.  Because, maybe one day, that person won’t be there in another moment to reconcile with.

Liquid Courage and Tablet Saviors : 30 Days of Truth

Day 20 : Your views on drugs and alcohol.

“Drugs are bad, m’kay?”

Or are they?

There is this long, Nancy Reagan-induced diatribe about the dangers and evil of illegal drugsSay no to drugs.  This is your brain on drugs.  The war on drugs.  Above the influence.  Don’t drink and drive.  Prom promise.  Those of us that are Reagan babies and older, through the boomers, are well aware of the presence and negative consequences of drugs and alcohol.   And despite the heavy dialogue, many people have personally experienced their own battle with substance abuse and dependence.

Alcohol had torn my life apart at the seams.  As with any addiction, it starts off as a recreational activity.  It’s a part of popular culture, especially in the younger age groups.  In my youth, drinking was cool.  Truthfully, it was a fun escape from the drudgery of daily life.  That was at seventeen.  Within a year, I started to find solace at the bottom of a bottle.  Coincidentally, that was the same year Smile Empty Soul sang:

I do it for the drugs.

I do it just to feel alive.

I do it for the love that I get from the bottom of a bottle.

Bottom of a Bottle – Smile Empty Soul

By the time I was in college, I was seeking out opportunities and excuses to drink.  A set of rules existed which meant to separate alcoholics, the loathsome bunch that we perceived people like our own parents to be, and recreational drinkers.

  1. Never drink before 5PM.
  2. Never drink alone.
  3. Never drink without occasion.
  4. Don’t drink before or during work or school.

As I gained my own freedom with my own apartment, the rules started to change.  In private, I could do what I liked.  I could deny everything and anything when I failed to be under the limelight of public scrutiny.  I began to use alcohol as more than a crutch; I started to abuse it completely as a coping mechanism.  That’s when alcohol and I started our sordid love affair.

The environment in my private life began to change.  I have spoken about it many times in various posts like Decent into Hell where I described my addiction as:

The last days of that relationship are blurry; my memories are obscured by the drugs and alcohol intoxicating my mind.  The days blended together in a ritualistic, self-medicated loop, work.drink.sleep.work.drink.sleep.sleep.drink.sleep… suspended in agonizing slow motion.  The silence was deafening in the deep, dark hours of night, still, cold, indifferent.

I had become a functional alcoholic.  I never drank before 5PM.  There was always an occasion, even if it was a day ending in “Y”.  And I certainly was not without company to share in my intoxicated merriment.  But there is a solid difference.  Every waking moment I did not spend at work was with a glass or a bottle in my fist.  I had gone far beyond the point of mixers, and mostly beyond the need for glasses.  It was me, a bottle of Bacardi 151 sans the filter, and a bottle of Gatorade to chase.

I wrote in Love the Way You Lie:

At that point, the seeds of alcoholism were taking root.  I violated my own rules of drinking.  It’s 5 o’clock somewhere!  I’m not drinking alone if I’m drinking with my boyfriend.  Hair of the dog, best way to cure a hangover.  If I’m still managing to get to school and hold an honor’s average, I’m not drinking too much.

Liquid courage and comfortingly numb.

It has always been my vice, and holds the looming, unending threat to assume control and ruin my life. In another 30 Days of Truth piece entitled, Control, or Lack Thereof, I went into a full exploration of recent recreational alcohol use and the negative impact it created in my life.

Flip that coin.

Drugs have revolutionized my life.

People neglect to realize that they are consuming legal drugs daily.  It becomes painfully obvious when you sigh over exorbitant copays at the pharmacy counter, like many people with mental health disorders often do.  But, instead of calling them “drugs”, we call them “medications”.  Did you know that Wellbutrin technically has the same chemical composition of a methamphetamine?  And that benzodiazepines work on the same receptors in the brain as alcohol?

So here I am, with my uppers to wake me in the morning, and my downers to put me to bed at night.  It would be illegal and detestable if I were using meth and boozing away.  Instead, it’s under the supervision of a doctor, as a controlled substance, in a convenient little pill.  Don’t get the wrong idea.  I am only likening the effects.  The supervision of the doctor is safer, and the medications are regulated by the FDA.  And as a result, I have most of my functioning back.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A Different Kind of Spiritual : 30 Days of Truth

Day 19 : What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?

Again, two hot button topics.  And again, I am far less than inclined to share my personal opinions on one of these subjects.  However, I do think it is important for a person to explore their own spirituality and maybe get ideas from another when they are unsure of their own beliefs.  Not to say that I intend on cramming my own spirituality down a reader’s throat.  Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs.

Therefore, I am entitled to my own, and under the First Amendment, I am guaranteed the right to express these beliefs.  I’d like to preface this post with the following.  I have disabled the comments, because of the sensitive nature of this post.  I highly discourage flame wars and refuse to provide a forum for them to happen.  I would rather remove the temptation than have to mediate later, once the damage is already done.

I do not expect anyone to be on the same bandwagon.  I have some unusual beliefs that come from a mixture of an Episcopalian upbringing, a self-proclaimed spiritual parent, and living amongst the Jewish people in their community for certain durations of time.  If you have any comments, questions, or concerns, please address me directly at lulu.em.stark@gmail.com.  I will be happy to engage a person in a private conversation on this matter.

With that said, I will begin the exploration of my spirituality.

I will state this up front, so there is no confusion later on.  I am far beyond disenchanted with organized religion.  I do not believe in religion, and I feel that it has done more harm than good in the world.  We have seen holy wars since the beginning of time, no matter what people would like to term them these days.  Many people have been forced from their homes.  Others have been sentenced to painful deaths and were cast out into exile for what they believed in.  All over differences of opinion on religion.

This is where everyone is going to get riled up.  I do not believe that Jesus ever existed.  I believe that Christianity was an idea that was concocted by the Romans for social control.  They had a population that had a monotheistic religion and another with a polytheistic religion, the latter dying out.  It was an attempt to get everyone on the same page.  Essentially, the Romans wanted to put a code of conduct out there and make it profitable.  And that they did.

There is no historical record of Jesus.  There were many historians living in the Mesopotamian area at the supposed time of Jesus’ life and death, and no one recorded a man who could perform spectacular miracles.  There may be tomb markers, but many people were entombed as part of commonplace burial ritual.  Jesus was an extremely popular name at the time.  There would be no possible way to find him on a registry, as all of those names were rather common.  Hence the suffixes, John the Baptist, etc.

I can say this with confidence, not because I am ignorant of Christianity, but because I am well educated.   I am baptized and confirmed Episcopalian.  I had perfect attendance in Sunday school for nine years running.  I started teaching the courses myself when I came of age.  I have read the Bible cover to cover.  And I find that so many of the rules are antiquated and just plain common sense. Wash your hands before eating?  Of course.  Don’t sleep with your brother’s wife?  Of course not!!!

I suspect that my subscription rate will plummet after this.

With all of that being said, I’ll continue with my own ideas of spirituality.  First, I prefer terms like spirituality and higher power in reference, because they are broader scope, less offensive, and do not indicate that I am a member of any religion.  I am not religious.  I am spiritual.

The universe is all made up of the higher power’s energy.  Energy and matter can never be created, nor destroyed.  That means that all of the things that exist today have existed in one form or another since before the beginning of time (because you know time is a human construct).  It was at the beginning of space.  If this is true, then that means that we’re all a part of each other.  That is true too.  We are all one in the same, from the amoeba to the complex human and beyond to planets, places, and beings we don’t even know exist.

We are all born with temperaments, and that’s all.  As for the rest of it, we are blank slates.  No being is inherently good or evil.  There is no black and white in those terms.  Which means that the higher power is not entirely benevolent, nor is the lower power.  They are opposing powers, as described, but they are not God and Satan as depicted.  They are one in the same, two sides of the same coin.  But, it remains the same coin.

We can take notes of our own morality from basic religion.  I do have a belief that all religions are really worshiping the same higher power, and generally all of the same moral guidelines.  However, it’s not as cut and dry as they would have you believe.  You will not be condemned to hell for failing to wash properly, although you might get an infection.  Some of those rules were made for practicality sake.  Cleanlinesss is next to Godliness, just means that we don’t want you getting sick and getting the rest of us sick with your epidemic.

As for other things that are outdated, I feel as if premarital sex is outdated.  In the days of old, the reason a woman did not engage in premarital sex was for lack of birth control and Maury Povich and paternity tests.  In those days, women relied on men to be their breadwinners and protectors.  A man is not biologically inclined to take care of a child that is not is, nor was he burdened by the responsibility that society would place on him.  Therefore, a woman would be left to do so herself.  But, in those days, women couldn’t work and take care of children at the same time.  The last thing villages needed was a whole family of fatherless children, relying on the resources of others to care for them.

Here are the things that are not dated.  The Golden Rule is the first and foremost guide for a moral compass.  If you don’t want it done to you, then refrain from perpetrating the offense onto another.  Period.  It really is that easy.  We all know that hitting hurts, robbing another is unfair and sometimes devastating, and taking another life away from someone else and their family is beyond devastating.  We all mourn the loss of those that we love.  Why would someone take something that isn’t theirs, only to destroy it for themselves and everyone else?

My belief in the process of death is rather unusual, because it borrows from several cultures.  There is no such thing as redemption at death.  One is judged by their actions or inaction,  positive and negative, the quality of their life and spirituality, and it is weighed out.  Only, the judge is not the higher power.  The judge is you.  There is no immediate heaven, or immediate hell.  We have souls that are always learning.  To be enlightened is to have a soul that is wise and open to education.  That is our point to any life that we lead.  We are here for a purpose, for a lesson.

Do you ever see themes occurring in your life?  Those themes are meant to teach you something.  It is your life’s lesson.  Without enlightenment to your life’s lesson and experiencing all of the fulfilling experiences meant for you as a part of the nature of your being (whether it’s animal, human, etc), then your soul does not get to move on to the next life.  You will repeat the lesson and the life until you have reached full enlightenment.  It is at that point that a being is allowed to choose what they would like to do with their eternity.

Gay Marital Status : 30 Days of Truth

Day 18 : Your views on gay marriage.

I am not typically one to discuss controversial topics on my blog.  Politics and religion are two subjects that I have some pretty convoluted and alternative philosophies on.  So, as a rule of thumb, I am inclined to exclude these from any social agenda that I may have.

However, I am prompted.  Therefore, I must preface this with a few things.  Comments on this particular post will be closed, not as a result of a discouragement of sharing opinion, but as a precautionary measure.  I appreciate all of the feedback I get from an audience, however, I am not interested in allowing a flame war on my blog.  If anyone is interested in an adult discussion, I am willing to do so in private.  You may email me at lulu.em.stark@gmail.com and I will screen responses appropriately.

Additionally, realize that my views are only opinions.  They are, in no way, meant to be construed as offensive or bias.  If you believe that you may find the following material offensive, please consider skipping this installment of The 30 Days of Truth : Sunny with a Chance of Armageddon.

With that said:  Lulu’s Views on Gay Marriage.

Quite honestly, gay marriage is really none of my business.  I realize that it’s my civic duty as an American citizen to fight for the causes of others, and believe me, I do.  However, this is a subject that I shy away from.  I am not gay.  Although I have fallen in love with a girl once, I do not believe I would have ever considered marrying her.  I have a history of experimentation with members of the same gender, however, I am not generally attracted or romantically interested.  Therefore, I have proven I am not gay, therefore gay marriage is not on my list of crusades.

However, if I were to be coerced into taking up a social issue beyond my own scope, I suppose gay marriage would be on the agenda.  I believe that every American should be free to make their own choices.  We do live in America, one of the freest countries in the world.  We have made so much progress in human rights and freedoms.  We are guaranteed equality.  Anyone is permitted to legally join with another person of the opposite gender.  Why do we have to limit it to opposing genders?

Now, being from an Episcopalian background, I do have one objection to gay marriage.  I believe in marriage as a ritual between man and woman in front of our higher power.  Marriage is not just a legal union between two opposite gendered entities.  It’s a spiritual thing.  Now, while I believe that homosexual folks should be entitled to the same rights under the higher power, I also believe that a distinction should be made.

The distinction is the same as the distinction between a heterosexual relationship and a homosexual relationship.  Gay and straight are necessary terms to describe the nature of a relationship, just as married and single.  It is important to define relationships in terms of our higher power and our legal status.  Marriage implies that the union occurs between a man and a woman.  Therefore, a different terminology should be used.

I do not mind any terminology that can be synonymous with marriage.  Union sounds nice.  Matrimony, minus the holy part is good for any kind of wedding.  Wedded, and anything else, seem to fit nicely.  Any combination of those would be effective.  I actually find it rather offensive to call it “gay marriage”, just because of the terminological distinction.  However, this is not my decision to make.  Again, I am not gay.  I don’t know what is offensive in the gay community, therefore I avoid the topic altogether.  I think the rest of the public would probably be okay with homosexual unions if they were called something other than “gay marriage”.  It’s possible that it offends much of the religious population.

That’s just my opinion.  If anyone has anything to add, I would be glad to hear it.  However, no flame mail or hate mail.  I’d like to clarify that I support any consenting union between two adult parties that are not adulterous or incestuous in nature.

Thank you.

Receivers : 30 Days of Truth

Day 17 : A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.

When I was thirteen, I was shipped off to Christian camp.  I can’t complain, because it wasn’t really a bunch of bible beating and talk of fire and brimstone.  If anything, it was sleeping under a huge tree all day outside of my cabin.  No, I’m not much for sports, honestly.

But, there was one tradition we did carry from year to year.  Our cabin leader, an older teenager, would pick one story to read.  She would read for either a half an hour, or through one chapter.  The book that she chose that year was “The Giver”.

We never did finish the book at camp.  But, I remember that was the first thing I did when I got home.  I had to see if he made it to the city.  I had to know the ending.  For the first time in my young life, I was actually eager to finish a book.  It touched something in me that no other book could.

“The Giver” opened my young eyes to the bigger, badder world that existed around all around me.  It completely shattered all naïve notions that kept my protective bubble intact.  We did not live in a world where people really looked out for each other.  It was really every man for himself, and a battle for control.  Most of us live in that protective bubble, never to open our eyes to the truths around us.  How could this be?

Today, in the Western world, we are free.  But, there may come a day where we are not.  But, in a way, how free are we?  Sure, we are not deprived of our sense of the world around us, or denied our sexuality.  But, the people living in that society didn’t know any better.  Only The Giver and The Receiver knew better.  What if our world is like this?  What if I see only the things I’m conditioned to see?

What if our entire lives are sketched out in the design of a bigger game by another entity (not meaning God)?  We’re all pawns in the greater scope of things.  Control is an illusion given to us to make us believe that we really are free to live our own lives and makes our own choices.  When we look at the capitalistic machine we live in, how free are we?

Honestly, how free are we?  Do we know all of the evil underlying truths?  Can we even conceptualize the extent of how trapped we are in our lives?  There is no dropping everything and going our own directions.  We are on the assembly line, manufactured for a purpose – just a purpose that we get to choose.  And even then, not so much.

We are born into the lives that we are designed to live, and not lead.  Typically, if a person is born into poverty, they will remain in poverty, or maybe just a tiny bit better.  The illusion of choice and opportunity exists, hanging above our heads, just out of our grasp.  And somehow, we rationalize why we don’t have those things and others do.  The point is, they are afforded to some and not to others by the choice of someone else.

We are always reliant on the choices of someone else, eventually leading up to a handful of people controlling the purse strings with power and money.  Corruption, greed, domination, we all become sheep.  Some of us are sheered, and others are slaughtered.  We don’t know any other life.

But one day, like The Receiver, we will be able to open our eyes and make a break for it.  We’ll step out of society, standing up and announcing our individuality.  And we’ll depart from these meaningless, mundane lives forever.

Leep-Into-Cin – Part III

Part three and recent parts of my fight with cervical cancer

As the Pendulum Swings

Warning: The following content can be considered graphical in nature.  It may contain material that may not be appropriate for certain audiences.  Children under the age of 18, those of the male gender, and others faint of heart may want to take extra care while viewing this.  Use your own discretion.

Bringing in the Big Guns

After the experience where I was left stranded on an operating table, I had grown animosity toward that doctor that performed my surgery.  I refused to see her, and I refused to go through any more procedures.  It didn’t matter.  I had lost my insurance again and there was nothing I could possibly do.  The only other option was to return to the clinic so that they could slowly kill me with their negligence.

I did break down and go to the clinic, but only for a required Pap to receive birth control.  I…

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