The way I look at it, Life double-fucked me.

It first fucked me in Childhood by preventing me from developing healthy coping skills (parents didn’t fret over their kids’ feelings too much back then).

I was DOUBLE-fucked because I needed those coping skills to weather the unspeakable horrors and tragedies Adulthood had in store for me.

Some time after aged 30, during 15 years of 15 major surgeries and Plenty Of Other Crap, I began coping the only way that worked for me: chemically.

I found I needed pain and anxiety medication to get through the day. Both ANY DAY and EVERY DAY.

Truth.

This always serves as the Official Reason People Who Gave Up On Me give for Giving Up On Me. I honestly don’t think I was that bad, but I wasn’t around for most of it. I was too numb.

Yet, with no Outer Pressure and DESPITE having minimal coping skills and a practically-nonexistent support system, I threw a giant cosmic wrench at myself. For no reason whatsoever, I chose to resort to my Chemical Coping Skills ONLY when they were desperately needed. Which is practically never, much to my own shock!

This choice has delivered me to Emergency Rooms on numerous occasions, certain I was in the middle of a stroke or heart attack, so great is my pain, anxiety, and nausea from both.

Remarkably almost-sober (don’t take my cannabis away from me; it helps with the nausea!), my thoughts often scare the ever-living shit out of me.

I personally find this ridiculous journey upon which I have embarked an extremely courageous one all the same.

I now Actively Disappoint rather than just Passively. Maybe you have to have been on a Similar Journey to understand what this means, but I think it means “I’m proud of myself❣️”

So Folks Who Want To Vilify Me: Stand in Line.

The person suspiciously ABSENT from that line will be ME.