I’m Here

I agree!

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I need a Team

I need to find a way to make a hangout of just people pushing each other to overcome tasks that are so TIRING and TEDIOUS to complete!

Half-Marathon; Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love My Body

Love thoughts like these; you don’t find them often.

The Z-Axis

I’ve never told anyone these things. My parents, my sister, my friends – no one. So heads up. You’re the first to know.

For the last few years, I have grown, slowly but steadily, to despise the way my body looks.

When I was a kid, I was always told how skinny I was. I didn’t break fifty pounds until I was eight years old. In high school I was always the smallest – height and weight – of my friends. I grew up knowing, somehow, intuitively, that ‘being skinny’ was something good, that it was something I should maintain. In high school, that belief was confirmed and reinforced by magazines, friends who were constantly ‘dieting’, and my school’s insistence on athletic rigor and social ostracism of students who didn’t fit the body ideal. But I was always warned that, as a woman, ‘my time would come’, I would have kids…

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Success in in view now, it was blocked by my ‘friends’ b4….

Eh….

My days hurt,

Like butterflies biting at arms and face as you run in horror.

My mind hurts,

From thinking the thoughts people may find to be so easy to think but happen to be the same dumb ones who do it wrong.

I hurt,

Like I really did something wrong.

Like my best intentions or care was not involved in my actions.

Whether its toward a stranger or people I may know.

I have friends,

Now I may have even less,

I seem to lose them by the day…by the request…by the posting of ‘statuses’…

I never liked that site anyway,

I mean,

It did bring me closer,

To the people who were meant to be forgotten.

To meet even newer ones to lose by the end of a casual convo.

I hurt.

It hurts,

Just to breathe in this air that my so called ‘old buddies’ spit at me as I reach out for it for dear life…

I don’t hate anything. But I wish I did.

I don’t even ‘hate’ this Hurt that troubles me every waking moment of my nights and days: and in that order.

Why does cripple/handicapped/TBI/injured/PTSD/victim scare so many people but me?

Why do I see those words and turn them into SURVIVOR OF GREAT OBSTACLES IN ONES LIFE?

Why…

Do,

I even care?

I don’t even feel like I do anymore, you know?

Almost like a game where you play water tag just to stay dry.

I win some, lose more…it’s become a recurring cycle.

But I look forward to tomorrow.

Because tomorrow’s the day: I get to Hurt again.

So familiar to me Hurt can be, its almost a tickle that hurts when not initiated.

But that, my dear friends, is basically what we ALL have to call: LIFE.