Been thinking about my freaking legs.

And when I think about my legs, I think about how angry I am about the total lack of diagnosis as to what the fuck went wrong with them.

Their degradation has made my life so much more constrained and dependent and lacking in basic human dignity.

I mean, I’m a cripple now. That’s still new. And it sucks.

For instance, I can’t even have a bowl of soup because I have no way to transport said soup from the kitchen to my seat in front of Mister Computer where I spend the majority of my waking hours.

I really wish I had exercised more when it was still an option. A nice long walk in a part or even a little light jogging sounds so good to me now. Being tied to a walker has vastly reduced both my mobility and range, and more importantly, my independence.

I hate having to rely on other (mostly poor Julian) for basic things. Not only do I feel super guilty for being such a burden on people^[1], there’s the simple fact that doing things yourself is always faster and simpler and easier than doing things through others.

So even if I was a completely selfish oral retentive sociopathic seat moistener, I still would want to do most things myself.

And I’m not.

I want my legs back, damn it. I’m not going to tell you to be grateful for the functional legs you presumably have, because well yeah, but the number of misfortunes we do not have is functionally infinite, but I will say this :

Use it while you have it.

I want to be free to roam the world on my own, too. It is the bitterest of ironies that I am only getting my head together enough to socialize outside of Le Gang and maybe even talk to people I don’t even know way after the point at which my crumbling body will let me do that.

At least, to do it without help. But I’ve already covered that.

I long to be able to pay someone to push me around in a wheelchair and take care of my simple needs. I would feel so much better if I was empowered like that.

I have lived far too much of my life in a state of cringing gratitude instead of coming into my own and building pride in my ability to handle whatever comes along.

But I can’t get back all the life I’ve lost. All I can do is let it go and start living now. I might not have all the options I should, but I ain’t dead yet, and there’s fun to be had.

Slowly but steadily, I prise open the door to the vault around my heart, hoping to one day finally be born unto the real world so I can, at long last, be alive.

I don’t feel fully in possession of myself yet. Not by a long shot. I still have a lot of healing to do before I can exit my semi-sleeping stupor and truly awaken from the spell I have been under since I was raped when I was 4 years old.

Like Pinocchio, I hope to some day be a real little boy.

But until then, I will continue to be the strange and magical being that I became.

Shhh. The Prince is sleeping.

More after the break.

---

About that pet thing

Let’s take another crack at this.

It comforts me greatly to think of myself as a pet (of sorts) or even a mascot to my group of friends because at least then I have a role and a use.

And that goes a long, long way towards shouting down that voice in my head that tells me I am a parasite and a blight on all that know me and a drain on society and everyone would be better off if….

Yeah, you know where that’s going.

I know that those thoughts are crazy. Lots of people love having me around. I may not have a job but I contribute in my own special way.

I spread my special sunshine as Fruvous on Tapestries. I leave tons of comments on YouTube, BlueSky, and (ahem) other places. I write on this lovely blog every day, and lately I also make a video every day.

I might not reach a lot of people (yet), but it would be wrong (and dangerous) to say that I don’t have any impact on the world or that I don’t produce anything.

The world would be a poorer and sadder place without me. People definitely would miss me if I was gone. And I could never do that to those whom I hold dear.

Suicide is such a brutal, selfish act.

Besides which, there’s still a lot of fun to be had. My life might not be all I want it to be but I still manage to have a somewhat good time.

And there’s always room for more. My life is far from over. And as long as I live, I am going to keep pressing forward toward the light, even though it blinds me and burns me and makes me afraid sometimes.

I know that this happens only because I’m not used to the light, having lived in the cold and the dark of my Midnight Tundra for so long.

And if I keep pushing forward then giving myself time to adjust, some day I will emerge from my cave into the world where the rest of humanity lives, and I will, at very very long last, get to go play with the other kids.

Maybe I was destined to be both special and strange. It certainly does seem like I had no chance of being normal – I was an eerie over-bright toddler.

So maybe I just walk a different path than most.

That would make sense.

And who knows where this road might lead me?

I just have to open myself up to inspiration.

Because when I am inspired, nothing can stop me.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.